


down to the river, blood in the water

by acumirklis, BitterCr0wn



Series: The Moral Law [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, Letters, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Middle Ages, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Plot, Politics, Slow Burn, Speeches, Unresolved Tension, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:47:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28576254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acumirklis/pseuds/acumirklis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterCr0wn/pseuds/BitterCr0wn
Summary: George hadn’t heard from Clay in many years, his last letter lay on George’s nightstand, worn and memorized down to the swirls of Clay’s clumsy signature at the bottom. He had left many years ago, leaving nothing but memories of a blonde boy with endless determination and sweet laughter that had blurred as the years passed by.(or: George's childhood best friend Clay leaves George and their rural village behind to turn up years later as the infamous mercenary Dream.)The Moral Law is updated every Saturday!
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: The Moral Law [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2111382
Comments: 122
Kudos: 228





	1. of letters and a bonfire

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome ! we hope you'll enjoy our story. we're also sorry for any mistakes, we're not native speakers.
> 
> have a great day, take care of yourself <3

George hadn’t heard from Clay in many years, his last letter lay on George’s nightstand, worn and memorized down to the swirls of Clay’s clumsy signature at the bottom. He had left many years ago, leaving nothing but memories of a blonde boy with endless determination and sweet laughter that had blurred as the years passed by.

He had sent letters, at first. Telling George of his training, the people he met, the places he saw. Sometimes, he’d write that he missed him. He’d sit and wait on his front porch every morning, waiting for the clacking of hooves that would bring him Clay’s letters.

In the small town Clay had left behind, it felt to George like nothing ever changed. He didn’t ever see anything new, he walked the same paths every day, bought his groceries in the same marketplace that had stood since before he was born. Clay’s letters made him feel like he handed the whole world to him through words roughly and clumsily scratched into coarse paper, like he wanted George to see what he saw. Clay would always get distracted when he described things, but that made his letters seem all the more beautiful to George, because it reminded him of the way his best friend used to talk, jumping from one topic to the next and always saying what was on his mind.

He was George’s best friend, but when he left, he became so much more than that; he was his only connection to a world George ached to see, he was all the places he had yet to see, all the people he had yet to meet.

Every day that went by the same as the day before had done unsettled George a little more, everything he did that he had already done a million times before with no prospect of change made him think of what it would be like to pack his bags, just like the blonde had done, and leave for good. Maybe he’d try and find Clay. He missed his best friend, and no matter how much he loved his letters and how much they meant to him, they couldn’t ever make up for Clay’s laughter, for the fire in his eyes, for his hand in George’s as they chased through the woods around their village.

The words his last letter carried hit George like a blow to the chest, sucking all the air from his lungs with the familiar, slightly hurried-looking handwriting that contradicted the grace Clay had always carried himself with, even when they had been children.

He’d waited on his porch for the one thing that made him happier than anything else, and it had broken his heart. And as much as it hurt him to lose the younger’s carefully chosen words, to lose a world he hadn’t even known, he couldn’t help but read his best friend’s letter over and over again, looking for hidden meanings, desperate for anything he had overlooked the first dozen times he had read it.

_George_ , it read, his already untidy handwriting even messier than usual.

_I do not have a lot of time to write this letter, I apologize for any mistakes I might make because of it._

_People think there is going to be a war. L’Manburg and the SMP could not seem to come to the smallest of agreements in the past few months, and keep fighting over simple trade issues. Some think that these little disputes are nothing to worry about and that everything will turn out alright, but they are part of something much bigger._

_Their most basic values are so vastly different that they’re not really disagreeing on the small issues, but they are playing a game of chess with problems that are easy and small. It seems so insignificant if you omit looking too closely, but it is a sign for something much greater that will lead thousands to their end._

_I got involved with some people who are planning for what will happen once war breaks out. If you ask me, the way both sides lead their countries is quite foolish, but to stop them, I have to join them. Acting as an outside force to two already volatile nations on the brink of war will only bring more destruction. The only thing we can do is to try and minimize the destruction, because war is inevitable. Even if this was not the case, it should not be stopped, because settling for anything less than the closure violence brings will always leave behind bitterness. And the clarity that pain brings will remind them that there are things more precious than war._

_So, Georgie, I cannot keep writing. If they think that you mean something to me, they will find you, and they will hurt you._

_I am sorry. I hope that you will be well, but I have to go through with this, and I do not want you to suffer from the consequences._

_Please be safe._

_—_ _Clay_

Reading his letter over and over again was the only routine that was capable of comforting George, even though it made fury rise in him every single time. Why was Clay so willing to just give him up? He’d immediately feel bad for thinking that way because he knew that the other was doing the right thing and was trying to protect people. George knew he was just being selfish, but he couldn’t help it.

George had been beyond happy for him when he had left, but he couldn’t help but be devastated and eventually angry, because he was lonely and Clay would probably never return for him. George had for so long been sure that he would, but his last letter tore the sliver of hope that he’d carried with him for so long away.

 _If they think that you mean something to me,_ he had written. Did that mean that George didn’t mean anything to him, after all? Why had he taken the time to write letters to George for all these years, then? He loved Clay and he was furious, he was confused and more than anything, he wanted to leave and see the world out of his own accord. His best friend’s letters were the only thing he had to look forward to, and reading them over and over again didn’t bring him joy anymore, and he was so angry.

He had heard from some of the kids his age in the village that it helped to burn all the memories you had of someone you broke up with. And in a way, they had broken up, hadn’t they? They’d never been together in that way, even though the thought of it made heat rise to his cheeks and he tried his hardest to banish it from his mind, but Clay _had_ ended their friendship, right?

They held a bonfire in the marketplace, and he brought Clay’s letters. He was sat by the fire in the same way he would on dark mornings sit waiting on his front porch for all the letters he was now grasping like a lifeline in his trembling hands, this time waiting for the courage, the surge of anger needed to thrust the younger’s letters into the blazing flames.

_If they think that you mean something to me._

The first letter landed softly among the logs darkened by ash at the bottom of the fire.

_So, Georgie, I cannot keep writing._

The second, the third.

_I hope that you will be well._

The fourth, the fifth, the sixth, he was losing count.

_Please be safe._

Clay’s letters were raining from between George’s shaking hands like huge petals, tears running down his cheeks as his breaths became rushed and silent sobs softly shook his body

George was left holding four letters, three, two, his last letter, and the older’s anger slipped from his grip as easily as the letters had done. Regret flooded him, and he tightened his loose grip on the last letter before it could fall into the flames, its edges having caught fire from the vibrant sparks the fire spit at it. He turned and ran, clutching Clay’s letter to his chest like a lifeline, down the painfully familiar paths to his home, his muscles remembering and leading him through every single step and turn even in the dark. The letter had darkened the front of his shirt with ashes and the warmth was burning through to his skin.

Clay had left and George was angry, but he loved Clay and he was devastated, and he couldn’t destroy all that his best friend had left him.

He threw open his front door and stormed up to his room, discarding the slightly charred letter onto his nightstand and trying to forget its burning presence in the corner of his eye.

Months passed enveloped in his tedious routine when one day it was broken by the news of a war having broken out arriving at their village. His heart sank and guilt flooded into him, even though he was not sure why. Clay had been right, and was probably fighting in said war, had been fighting to join it before it had even started.

George knew that the war that had broken out was worse than anything the world had seen in a long time, but his village barely felt anything aside from grain prices rising and a few of the older boys leaving to join the army. In their own remote world, the things that were happening seemed to matter less and he knew that he should be happy about the peace that they got to enjoy even during a time of war, but he felt worse and worse every day being stuck in a place where everything was quiet when the world was suffering.

And so a week after the news of the war reached the village, he packed his bags at night, picking up the letter from his nightstand as an afterthought to carefully store it in the soft leather bag strapped to his hip, and set out in the morning fog, the cold air making his exposed cheeks sting as he rode his horse down beautifully unknown paths, anticipation and fear twining themselves around his heartstrings.


	2. of bloodshed in a muddy field

George didn’t know where to look. Too much was happening around him, swords clashing onto shields, arrows flying through the air like a swarm of birds from both sides of the battlefield, screams drowned out by the furious pattering of boots and hooves on the muddy field. Rain was splashing onto his armor in a heavy, unsettling beat and soaking his garments until he was shivering uselessly against the cold that was seeping through to his bones. His breathing was getting panicked, but he forced himself to remain calm. He knew he would be of no use to anyone if he started panicking in the middle of a battle. Sapnap had taught him better.

Him sitting atop his horse gave him the opportunity to glance about the field, and he spotted Sapnap almost immediately even across the field, his furious fighting style as he slashed his way through enemy lines making him stand out even in the unrelenting downpour. The appearance of the white cloth wound around the hilt of his sword that fluttered in tandem with the powerful swings of his weapon was feared among his enemies and a sign of protection and safety for his allies.

Watching Sapnap fight was mesmerizing and he had taught George a lot of what he’d learned since he’d joined the army of the Southern Empire, but he never could help missing the powerful but gentle elegance that Clay had always fought with. Sapnap fought with an aggression that didn’t leave any room for grace, and even though he was one of the best fighters George had ever met, when he fought, it looked brutal, it looked as violent as it truly was.

He was ripped from his thoughts as a sudden burst of light signalized that the clouds covering the gentle afternoon sun had finally passed. The downpour slowly turned into a drizzle as swords clashed. He took several deep breaths; standing still without doing anything was putting him on edge and he could feel his horse growing skittish under him, letting out frustrated breaths and stomping her hooves into the mud.

A messenger rode towards him and gave him a signal as soon as he was close enough for George to recognize it. He breathed a small sigh that carried both anxiety and relief before giving the soldiers under his command the order to charge after him.

George knew that the SMP had the advantage of numbers in this battle. Though it was easy to get cocky when you had a higher number of soldiers under your command, Sapnap kept reminding them that among the forces opposing them were some of L’Manberg’s better army generals and units, who were fighting alongside locals that lacked training but had the advantage of knowing the land better than any of them did, even though it was part of the Southern Empire’s territory. Sapnap knew not to underestimate them even with their lack of training.

They were to fight on a grassy plain that stretched on for miles and was backed on one side by a dense forest, behind which lay L’Manburg’s camp and a few miles further away still was the village that locals had come to fight from. 

The woods were run through by a mighty river that served as a natural border between the Southern Empire and L’Manburg. Even before the war had started, L’Manburg’s leaders had eyed up and sometimes even outright demanded the numerous square miles of land that was the SMP’s territory, but was barely blemished save for a few paths that went through it. Their leaders claimed it was wasteful to let so much potential farmland go to waste. Fat lot of good it would do them if they gained control over the strip of land, George thought, after two armies had trampled everything it had to offer it into the ground.

Sapnap had determined that the best course of action was using their numbers to their advantage to try and overwhelm their enemy and scouring the land as best as they were able to for an eventual advantage in the terrain that would help them win the battle. They discovered that the plain wasn’t completely flat, but carried a slight slope as it sunk down to the forest and the river. Their archers would be positioned on top of it, at a higher point than their other units, in the hope of giving them at least a small strategic advantage over the enemy, who had their archers positioned at the edge of the forest to make it more difficult for them to be reached by hostile forces.

The otherwise fairly flat and overseeable battlefield gave them relative safety in the sense of avoiding tricks that L’Manburg’s generals or its locals might have up their sleeves. Sapnap’s plan was to split L’Manburg’s forces into two by concentrating SMP’s forces onto the center of their attack and creating a corridor that would be used to encircle the forces from one side each while additional cavalry units would then get the signal to attack the split forces from their outer side.

George’s horse ran with a more jumpy gait than usual, evidently thankful for not having to stand still any longer. He could hear his soldier’s horses run behind and up beside him and could barely contain the bark of laughter that built in his chest and snuck up his throat at the relief that flooded him in a wonderful, overwhelming wave. The anxiety George had felt before he had joined the fight dissipated, just like it always did once he actually felt his horse’s harsh breaths underneath him as she ran, once he propped his sword up by his side to be ready to attack, feeling it pull at his muscles already. His sight was much clearer; it was like a rush that made him stronger and gave him the power to take in everything around him. When he had first experienced it, it had scared him, but he’d been taught how to use it to his advantage.

They were coming closer to the infantry lines of the enemy and George took another deep, shaky breath into his slightly aching lungs before they came into contact with them. His shield shook in his grip as it took a hit from a diamond axe. If he’d been fighting with the infantry, whoever hit him would have disabled his shield well enough to be able to land a fatal hit, only the advantage of speed he had atop his horse allowed him to evade the swing of their sword. His left hand was already becoming sluggish from absorbing the forceful hit and he gritted his teeth against the pain beginning to burn through his arm up into his shoulder.

He swung his sword out against a careless foot soldier he passed that had left his side unprotected as he was fighting another soldier from a unit George knew to be experienced. He couldn’t help the rush of pity he felt at the realization that the enemy soldier was most likely a rookie fighting in one of their first battles, if not the first one. He had been holding up remarkably well, George thought.

He looked around to check if any one of his soldiers was in trouble before determining that they seemed to make good progress with most of them largely unharmed and charging a little further down the already forming crack in their enemy’s lines to where he could see some of the other cavalry units sent to break through the middle of L’Manburg’s forces having trouble splitting the enemy’s infantry lines, taking care to be in the near vicinity of his soldiers.

Apologies rattled in the back of his mind as the strokes of his sword brought down soldier after soldier, blood coating his sword in cruel, cinnamon red droplets, having to focus on technique but still not wanting to abandon his basic morals that told him that this was wrong, that this was nothing but a crime committed under the excuse of saving lives. But he also knew that what Clay had told him in his last letter was true; if they wanted to achieve something akin to peace, there would have to be bloodshed. Yet it was easier to accept it to be the truth when he wasn’t harming people who hadn’t harmed him because it would benefit them in the long run.

He heard a blood-curdling scream somewhere to his right and flinched as it chilled him down to his bones, reminding him that his garments were still soaked and that he was freezing in the wind as he rode. Even though he knew that he should be focussing only on his own battle, he couldn’t help but turn around and immediately wished he hadn’t. He’d seen his fair share of gruelling sights during battles, but somehow he never got over seeing the tragedies of war.

The picture that greeted him was a man somehow still standing on swaying and toppling feet, even though it was obvious it would be mere seconds until his death. He was breathing heavily and clutching his shoulder where his arm had been what George thought were mere seconds ago. The soldier who had doomed him to die on the battlefield was nowhere to be seen, probably already engaged in another fight. George had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat, turning away and cursing his morbid curiosity and overflowing pity that wouldn’t let him keep his gaze averted when he heard something obviously terrible happen. He forced his focus onto himself, away from the dying man who lay under the smacking of hooves in the mud, no less part of the floor than the dirt he was lying in.

But still he couldn’t stay focused and eyes began darting around the battlefield once again. The attack Sapnap had planned was going successfully from what George could see. He gave each of his soldiers a fleeting, rough once-over. To his relief, most of them didn’t seem to be seriously hurt, even though a chunk of them seemed to be missing. He hoped that whoever wasn’t there wasn’t seriously hurt and had just gotten lost or had deserted.

Considering that he was under Sapnap’s command, George’s attitude towards deserters should be more severe than it actually was. Sapnap resented traitors and deserters more than anything else, because he was loyal to a fault.

George thought them cowardly and firmly upheld his opinion that they should receive their punishment, because why should they specifically be allowed to give less to the military service when others had families, children and lives, too? But he also thought that someone not having their honor was better than that someone being dead. He couldn’t wish death on a coward simply for being a coward, but he could wish on a person a punishment that would leave them with both the shame that came with abandoning their honor and the life that was more important to them than fighting.

As he kept glancing about the battlefield from the corner of his eyes, they caught onto a lone figure weaving through to where the SMP’s troops were breaking through the ranks of the enemy, a slightly too large to be unplanned amount of obviously experienced soldiers following in his wake, not too far from where George was fighting. He couldn’t tear his gaze away and almost got hit by a particularly precise swing of an iron sword because of it. He’d only seen fighting like this man’s many, many years past, in the tiny forest next to the small village that he’d left behind.

The soldier had an aggressively white mask that carried a crudely drawn smiley strapped to the front of his helmet and was wielding a double sided axe without a shield, which George thought was a foolish way to go into battle, and even though he was using the freedom he gained from not having to carry a shield to his advantage, he still looked reckless and unguarded. His fighting looked unorthodox; he was using his axe’s reinforced hilt to block attacks and his whole body was moving along with his axe as though he was being led by his axe and not the other way around. When someone came too close to him, his foot or elbow would dart out to kick at the enemy who would then stagger for just long enough to give him the opportunity to attack.

Sapnap fought with a viciousness that made his enemies cower in fear, but even though the figure obviously possessed similar or even superior skill, while it was obvious when watching Sapnap fight how much effort it took, the other man made fighting look effortless. It resembled a beautiful but rage-filled dance; he swung his axe at anyone who came near him as though he had choreographed every one of his movements long before.

George had watched something like it once before, harsh breaths breaking through the relative silence of a forest, a roughly crafted wooden axe carving wounds into invisible enemies, a freckled child twirling his way around a battlefield atop a floor of fallen leaves.

George being worried and wanting to make sure Clay was alright when he tripped over his own still clumsy feet and George’s own quiet laughter ringing through the trees once his best friend got up and looked at him with an adorably exasperated and disgruntled expression.

The jagged make of a wooden axe scraping along George’s skin as Clay used it to lift up his chin with a slightly shaky grip. Green eyes staring into brown ones, heat rising to George’s cheeks, laughter stuck in his throat.

The first thing George felt upon seeing him again was overwhelming relief that shook him to his core. He hadn’t even known if Clay was still alive, and here he was, stronger than ever but still the same as he’d been so many years ago. He could tell from the way his once choppy and noticeably taxing movements looked fluid and polished that he’d trained more than his facade of easiness let on.

Someone called his name loudly to be heard over the near deafening sounds of battle and he tore his gaze from his childhood best friend, remembering where he was and feeling guilt wash over him briefly at the fact that he had gotten distracted; someone could’ve gotten hurt because of it. He could’ve gotten hurt. The person that had called out his name rode up to him, leaned into his space and told him, “Apparently that’s Dream over there, we should get away from here, Sapnap said that he would deal with him himself if he showed up.” He recognized the person talking to him to be one of his most trusted soldiers and knew that he could believe what they were telling him.

Like everyone else, he’d heard of Dream before. People talked of him in terrified, whispered words during the dead of the night; talk of the terrible things he had done, of the unspeakable acts he had yet to commit. Some disbelieved that he even existed and some argued that that was precisely what Dream wanted, and that it was why he never let those who crossed his path escape.

He fought for L’Manburg, but people said all kinds of things about his loyalties. That he would change sides if only paid enough, that he would do anything if only paid enough. George couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that he obviously wasn’t loyal to L’Manburg, but had still been assigned an obviously high and important position in a battle. His skills were renowned and George knew from personal experience that Clay used to be an incredible fighter and had drastically improved over the years, but the amount of risk L’Manburg seemed willing to take just to have him fight for them astounded George.

He stole one last glance at the expressionless smile on his mask before tugging at his horse’s reins and shifting his weight in the saddle to turn and help defend against Dream and his soldiers. George felt the old anger that had lingered and festered in him rearing its ugly head once again. Who was Clay to not even let George know that he was alive? Surely he knew that that’s all George would’ve needed, just the knowledge that the younger was alive was all George had wished for on the days he missed him most, on the days he worried the most. And who had his best friend become, anyway? He had left George’s side as an overeager teenager who had no wish but to help, who talked to George about honor and duty, and now he was, what, a mercenary? Clay had mentioned that he had gotten involved with some people, but George had not expected it to be like this, never like this.

_If they think that you mean something to me._

He huffed out a frustrated breath as the sentence that had burned itself into his memories rose up unbidden. His best friend had just reappeared after years of George not even knowing if he was alive, and the one thing his mind inevitably jumped to was his last letter and a certain set of words hurriedly jotted down words that Clay probably didn’t even remember. He really felt ridiculous sometimes, the thought of Clay made him that way.

And after all, he wasn’t important, so he had no right to get angry. Clay had explained himself to George, right? He shouldn’t be getting angry at him, but he couldn’t help it.

He forced a few deep breaths into his lungs; his body felt like it was moving out of its own accord, running on pure muscle memory as though he had lost control. The clanging of armour was ringing in his ears like a steady, terrifying lullaby. He had to think, think, _think,_ and oh. There were too many soldiers following Dream, there were too many of them reinforcing the center of L’Manburg’s lines. George didn’t think it possible, but he felt his already heavy heart sink even further.

Somehow L’Manburg had gotten wind of their battle plans. The reinforcements had arrived too quickly, they should have had no chance to defend their lines. It was likely that there was a traitor amongst them.

The sun fell as more and more soldiers did the same, making it increasingly hard for George to see his own sword before him. The SMP’s lines had fallen into disarray as their plan had, and he could barely make out a call for retreat being hollered behind him over the sounds of the other confused voices and screams. L’Manburg’s army didn’t try to pursue them; it was too dark to fight, even though they had gained an advantage, they had been just too far on the verge of too late to properly utilize it.

George’s mind was reeling as he rounded up his men and followed the other generals to their camp, silent prayers running through his mind as he guided his horse around corpses littering the blood-sodden, trampled meadow. They had been betrayed, and his best friend was… who was his best friend? He was fighting for L’Manburg and he was one of the most renowned fighters and assassins people knew of. For a moment, gleeful, childish pride swelled up in him; he’d always known Clay would make it far, he was a great fighter, always had been. His potential was obvious and everyone in their village had known about Clay, the local boy, who is going to be great one day, you’ll see; and George couldn’t be happier for his best friend. Undercurrents of jealousy had always chased the pride he carried for his best friend, but they were never anything but an afterthought. It looked like, George mused, after all these years, that hadn’t changed. _He_ himself hadn’t changed all that much, George thought, but Clay was a soldier on the opposite side of the war, betraying and killing and apparently willing to do anything so long as the price was right.

But then again, George had to admit to himself that he was being unfair; he hadn’t stayed the same, either. He’d left, just as Dream had. He’d betrayed and killed and done things he wasn’t proud of to get where he was. It really wasn’t his place to judge, he thought guiltily.

When he got back to camp, he handed his horse’s reins to a young man he vaguely remembered from the stables back at SMP’s castle as Sapnap called all the generals that weren’t injured or missing to his tent. He looked all of them, one by one, into their eyes, as if he could pull the truth out of them if he pinned them down with his stare long enough.

Many of them were trusted friends of his, people he had known for most or all of his life. Alyssa and Callahan were sitting side by side, him looking to the floor and her gaze not being able to rest on either him or Sapnap for too long before wandering over to the other, looking like she wanted to speak but didn’t want to break the hold the silence had on the chilly tent. Eret sat with a foot set down onto his chair next to his thigh, hugging the leg he had propped up with one arm and chewing the nails of his other hand. Karl swatted at his arm when he noticed.

It was likely that one of them had blabbed about their plans, because the generals were the only ones with enough details and the ones informed soon enough for them to tell someone else. His eyes rested on George who couldn’t help but flinch at the anger in his gaze. Him and Sapnap went back many years, back to an old tavern and drunken flirting, back to Sapnap shoving George to the dusty floor of their training field over and over again until he could do the same to Sapnap, back to nights spent talking, back to Sapnap protecting George when he needed him most.

Sapnap let his facade drop for a fleeting moment George thought he may have just imagined, until he looked at George, allowing a small, defeated smile to break through the anger painted across his face. _I’m sorry, I trust you, you’re my friend, it’s not your fault, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry._ George smiled back at him.

Sapnap’s eyes turned to Karl, his gaze filled with as much gentle admiration and love as he would allow himself, before turning cold again. George shivered in the freezing night air that flowed into the tent with a wind that was just a little too strong to be called a breeze. The rain had finally let up, covering the stench of blood with frosty breaths of petrichor.

“It’s likely that one of you betrayed me, and I _will_ find out who it was.”

As George laid on his cot in a crude tent in their base that night, exhausted and bandaged, his thoughts hadn’t stopped racing. They had been betrayed and Clay _—_ no, _Dream_ _—_ was fighting for L’Manberg, or at least involved with them, as he had put it in his letter, and George knew where their base was. If he wanted to, he could find him, he could talk to him again. George’s wish to see him again was as much driven by love as by the seemingly endless angry and desperate questions he had wanted to ask every day since his last letter had arrived. If he even still remembered him, George thought and shook his head at himself promptly.

A surge of starkly contrasting emotions rushed through him and he abruptly sat up, causing him to become lightheaded for a short moment. The battle had taken a toll on his body and he internally chastised himself for not being more careful. Once the temporary fog that had set over his eyes lifted, he stood up, this time making sure to keep his movements controlled and deliberately slow.

He made to leave his tent; and just as he had done when he had left their village, stopped briefly to grab his letter and stuff it into one of his jacket pockets before setting off to the woods he knew L’Manberg’s camp to lay behind. He debated telling Sapnap or anyone where he was going, but he knew that they would stop him, so he didn’t. Maybe it was foolish to try and sneak to L’Manburg’s camp when it was possible that he’d be labelled a traitor, but he didn’t care.

His best friend was within his reach for the first time in years, and even if he wouldn’t find the person he used to know, he wanted answers, and he’d be damned if he’d let him slip away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my knowledge of war is based on techno's bannerlord streams and a ten minute youtube video on war tactics, so if i made any mistakes, feel free to let me know !!


	3. of hope trapped within fear

Nights were merciless.

What happened in the depths or the quiet darkness, was left unsaid; undiscovered.

If you whispered into the void, your words would evaporate before ever reaching anyone’s ear.

One step in the wrong direction, and your pretty eyes would never see the light of day again.

A scream barely louder than a cold breath, pleas only heard by the rustling leaves.

Trees like a wall; countless ways out, which one lead to safety?

George was alone; the voices of his friends were long gone, a mere memory echoing through his head. It was freezing cold; his thin garments were not enough to warm his skinny yet strong body. His feet were hurting from the long walk, his lungs were begging him to take a break and rest. But he couldn’t, not when there was a specific goal in his mind; George would be doomed if he stopped now.

After all; he could disappear from his grasp any second, one moment of hesitation and he’d be gone, nothing but a small trace of dust left.

Dream.

He was quicker than light; it’s what they told George. A man like a silhouette; a shadow. If you blinked, you’d miss him, all that was left for your eyes to gaze upon would be the slowly toppling body of a deceased man, scream caught in his throat, dead before he could make a single sound, utter one last prayer.

He was infamous; his name alone summoned goosebumps on every commoner’s arm. A living legend; one you’d pray at night to never cross paths with.

In a way, George was scared; would he kill him, not even bothering to hear him out? Or would he let him live, but play with him, instead?

There was no guarantee that George would ever return back to his base alive; his friends would never know what happened to him. He’d be one of the countless missing people lost in the woods, never to be seen again, haunting the present of everyone who dared to set foot in the same forest.

Should George have told them? Notified his friends where he was heading? If it came down to it, they’d come and get him; either bring him back alive, or retrieve his dead body.

But there was no time for thinking; Dream’s stay was limited, and George was not about to miss his one chance of seeing him.

The forest was dense; the perfect place to hide in. Dream was smart, he knew that; even when on the enemy’s side, he operated alone, not even sleeping close to the people he fought side by side with. He’d always been one to act alone, nothing had changed.

It was dead silent; George felt the hairs on his neck and arms rise. A quiet forest never meant anything good; he put his defences up. The only sound buzzing was the quiet whistling of the wind and his own footsteps, too loud in his ears.

All of the information George had was hearsay; there was no definite confirmation of Dream’s location, so all he had to do was hope and survive the harshness of the potentially fatal night.

A few minutes in, or hours? George didn’t know, but he saw a flash of light to his side, and with a mesmerized yet determined gaze, he went to where it had last been before disappearing. In its place, there was nothing, no footprints, no traces of life. Nothing but the biting stench of smoke in the air.

Something about this felt off; George felt watched. It may have been the fatigue, the paranoia or the worries, but wherever he looked, wherever he went, the sensation of a pair of eyes burning into his back never ceased.

Was George going insane, or was Dream playing mind games with him? There was a presence, he could feel it as clear as day, but he hadn’t seen a single thing, hadn’t heard a single sound, that could lead George to his desired target. Yet, he could almost feel his energy, enveloping the edges of the forest, effectively trapping George without an escape.

When he thought rationally, he knew that it was highly unlikely Dream was even aware of him wandering the woods; the forest was enormous, even a local could lose themselves in those endless paths. The possibility was so minimal; but George couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, Dream had felt that he was there.

So, as the moon began rising higher and higher in the sky, and more and more stars started to appear, he kept walking, with no real sense of direction, at this point it didn’t matter anymore.

George’s limbs started to grow heavy, and slowly, his focus started to shift. No mere human could walk aimlessly for hours, the constant threat of potential death looming over their head, and not start to falter.

And falter was all Dream needed; within a few swift moments, George hit the ground, hands behind his back, and a heavy weight on top of him, keeping him in place.

All he could hear was the ringing in his ears, and he felt something warm run down the side of his head. Helplessly, George lay on the floor, head spinning from the impact, limbs not strong enough to fight back or even shift under him.

He didn’t have to turn his head to see who was with him, so calm and collected he didn’t even hear him breathe.

It was like they had warned George; no one could see Dream coming. There would be no warning; not a single noise, smell, sound. He appeared out of the shadows; and he disappeared into them after he was done.

The last thing he heard was an annoyed sigh, and everything around him faded.

___

Opening his eyes felt like a chore, his eyelids heavy and his head aching. The first thing George saw was the ground and his knees, his trousers slightly ripped, the fabric soaked in blood. He coughed, and all of a sudden, he was all too aware of the ropes tying his hands together behind his slouched back. George’s head shot up, and as he stopped breathing, his eyes met his.

Sitting on a stool, posture slightly hunched, one leg thrown over the other, his axe in hand, Dream stared deeply into his soul, face entirely unreadable. He was slowly sharpening the blade of the axe, each new stroke more graceful than the other, the sound of metal and stone colliding echoing through the branches and into the depths of the night.

George gulped, trying to muster up the strength to talk, but whenever he tried to open his mouth, his throat closed up.

Dream’s stare was intimidating; the emotion behind his mask was hidden, he looked like a predator ready to strike down its prey.

For the first time in a long time, George was at a loss of words.

Was this how he would meet his demise? Would Dream kill him in cold blood, without anyone ever finding out? George had no idea where he was; Dream had taken him to his base, but he did not know the way back, he was trapped, he was at Dream’s mercy. Even if he tried to run, he’d not get far; Dream knew this area better than George ever could, and that thought alone caused a chill to run down his spine.

It was so odd; when George looked at him, at that quiet, graceful elegance in his shoulders, that eerie expression of his mask, his shoulder-length, silky blonde hair, he saw the kid he once used to know. George saw him, and suddenly, he went back in time, a feeling of reassurance and safety embracing him.

But George was not safe; this was not the quiet boy he used to know. He was all grown up now; tall, dangerous, strong.

George felt horribly naïve for the small sensation of trust blooming in his chest when he thought to see some part of Dream’s body relax, but as quickly as his deluded mind allowed him to fantasize, the illusion shattered, and he was met with the harsh and biting truth; the man in front of him had his hands tainted with blood, and his heart was as cold as a bitter winter. There was not a single spark of recognition in his eyes; George was a stranger to him; he was an enemy.

And what did Dream do to enemies, notoriously? George pushed that thought back into the farthest corner of his mind.

As much as George wanted to bask in the comfort of memories, he had seen too much not to quietly shudder in fear as he desperately tried to decipher what Dream was thinking, what he was planning. What emotion lay behind that disguise. 

“Talk.”

George’s eyes widened and he averted his gaze. Something about Dream’s monotone voice made him insanely flustered. Not trusting his own voice not to break, George remained silent, looking anywhere but him.

He could hear Dream shift lightly. “Are you deaf? I asked you to talk.”

When had his voice gotten this deep and raspy? George saddened as he realized that he no longer remembered the sound of Clay’s voice.

George swallowed, staring directly into the mask’s eyes. “Where am I?”

He let out an amused sound. “You’re asking _me_ that? After you walked into my territory?”

George clenched his fists behind his back slightly, silently willing his voice not to shake as he spoke next. “The forest does not belong to you.”

He heard a slight scoff. “Oh? Is that so?”

George didn’t answer, looking away from Dream’s face and onto the axe in his hands. “Yes. I was just taking a walk.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Dream raise his chin cockily. “In the middle of the night? Alone? As a soldier?”

George’s head shot up and he turned to look at him, slight fear in his eyes. “Why do you think I’m a soldier?”

Dream looked at his axe, head tilting. “Do you think I haven’t memorized all of Sapnap’s inner circle? You really think I’m that stupid?”

George tried to calm his harshly beating heart. “Sapnap’s inner circle is confidential; I don’t believe you.”

A small chuckle shook his shoulders. “And? I am not a novice; in order to win, I have to know my enemy like the back of my hand. It’s easier to find these things out than you think, doll.”

George narrowed his eyes. “You’re bluffing.”

Dream’s grip on his axe tightened. “Oh really? I bet Sapnap’s little puppets would say decisively otherwise. How were their names again? Ah! Callahan, Eret, Alyssa-“

“Stop,” George interrupted, eying him with an enraged look, “Don’t say anything else.”

“You’re so easy to rile up, aren’t you? But of course, I will stop, but don’t you dare try to lie to me again.”, he said calmly, turning his head somewhat closer towards George as he stared him down, his unsettling gaze making George shift uncomfortably.

He didn’t say anything to that, deciding that it was best not to anger Dream when he could slice his throat at any given moment.

They both didn’t speak for a while; Dream kept sharpening his axe, and George kept staring at the fire burning a little to his side, the only source of warmth he was able to get. Nonetheless, the night was mercilessly cold, and the discomfort was starting to get to his head.

Dream seemed to notice, but he didn’t speak on it, rather, he sighed and positioned his axe next to him, turning his full attention on George. “Why did you come here?”

The latter bit his lip. “Why do you have to know?”

He tilted his head again. “I know you were looking for me; so, out with it.”

“I am not obligated to tell you anything.”, he replied, trying to convey all of his anger with his eyes.

Something in Dream’s posture changed for the briefest of seconds before he was back to being unreadable. “You’re a feisty one; is that why they sent you?”

“No one sent me, I came here by myself.”, George stated, voice sterner than it had been all night.

“Who in their right mind wanders the woods at night, alone, for apparently no reason? Not to mention; you are getting awfully close to L’manburg’s territory, and you mean to tell me this is not deliberate? Listen; my patience is starting to run out. If you don’t tell me why you’re here, I will make sure that you won’t leave these woods tonight.”, he said, leaning forward on the stool, axe easily within reach.

“You don’t scare me,” George uttered breathlessly, “I don’t believe a single word you’re saying.”

Dream’s voice took on a sharp edge. “Don’t loosen your tongue; who do you think you’re talking to?”

For the first time tonight, George smirked, not knowing where the sudden urge and boldness came from. “Then tell me.”

Dream looked at him for a very long moment, and maybe, just maybe, George let himself believe that he had caused Dream to be at a loss of words, too.

“If I was you, I’d play nice; don’t you want to come out of this alive?”, the blonde said in a low voice.

“I won’t be nice to someone like you; you haven’t earned an ounce of my respect.”, George answered, sitting up a bit straighter, posture more threatening.

Suddenly, something in the air shifted, and before George could blink, Dream had stood up, axe in his hand, towering above him with the mask so intimidatingly vacuous, George feared the air around them would shatter if he as much as whimpered. Had he gone too far, had he used up all of Dream’s scarce hospitality?

George looked up at him, trying to mask the fear in his eyes, as Dream moved the blade of his axe under George’s chin, lifting it slightly. The latter stared at him, the cold metal digging into his skin, did he draw blood or was it the adrenaline buzzing?

Dream’s frame was scarily elegant; the moon lit him up from behind, casting a dark shadow, and even with the dim light of the fire, George could barely make out the frightening yet sharp edges of his covered face. One of his shoulders was pushed behind him slightly, the way he was holding his axe up resembled holding a fragile spring flower gently. Dream was mesmerizing; he was beautiful. And George was terrified.

“Look at you; completely at the enemy’s mercy. What would your fellow soldiers think, eh?”, the blonde said, voice calm and quiet, George’s heart started racing faster. “Where is your attitude, now?”

George didn’t know what to do; it felt like no matter what, no matter if he spoke or stayed silent, Dream would not appreciate either. What had George been thinking, anyway? Had that small hope of trust corrupted him, tainted his consciousness so much he’d forgotten that the best friend he once had no longer was? He had no idea what kind of person was standing in front of him, illuminated by nothing but all the natural lighting the night could gift, he was a stranger, he was an enemy, and George had just managed to infuriate him.

“Thought so.”, Dream said after a while, lifting his head a little higher.

George could feel the tip of the blade dig into his skin ever-so-slightly, and it was starting to hurt. His body was aching; he was exhausted. All the thoughts clouding his mind were heavy with doubt, and he cursed himself for having been so careless, for not having planned more before approaching someone who was notorious for not letting his victims go.

In a way, George wondered if it was worth trying to fight. He was in no way weak; he had to be strong, otherwise Sapnap would have never allowed him to join his inner circle. He knew his way around most weapons, he was quicker than most soldiers, and he had something special about him that made him stand out among others. But no matter how good George was; when it came to Dream, everyone else paled in comparison. Not to mention, George was also not very well off currently, both physically and mentally. This was nothing but a losing game.

“I’ll make this easy for you; either you tell me why you’re here, or I’ll make it so that you can never say anything, ever again.”, Dream threatened darkly, staring so deep into his eyes he felt his soul freeze.

Taking a deep breath, George spoke up. “I needed to talk to you.”

Dream let out an amused sound. “Oh?”

George gulped. “Yes.”

Dream looked at him, and George could see his patience slowly starting to dwindle as he stayed silent, not daring to utter another word.

It could have been so easy; so simple to just tell him who he was. All George had to do was open his mouth, say a few words, and Dream would know whom he was currently willing dead. He imagined Dream’s face behind the mask; flashes of recognition filling out his face, eyes sparkling, mouth stretched into a welcoming and warm smile, him lowering the axe and engulfing George in a warm embrace, two souls finally reunited.

But he knew that the chances were astronomically low; George had no idea who he was dealing with anymore.

Dream was so cold; the feeling George got when he was near him was as if the other was the calm before the storm, ready to snap at any given moment, and take down anything and everything around him.

The brown-haired man knew how bloodthirsty Dream was; how deadly an encounter with him could be. If he was being honest with himself, George had hoped that all the stories he’d heard were overexaggerated, or simply not true. He had hoped that deep down, Dream was still the boy he used to know, still the boy who would throw away anything to be by his side when George needed him.

But in the end, George couldn’t fault Dream, either. After all, he had blood on his hands now, as well.

What had they done to him? Where had he been all those years? Not a single letter, not a single sign of life. For all George knew, he could have been dead, and there was no way for him to find out. Dream had disappeared from the face of the earth; a part of George hated him for that.

Clay and Dream were so different; George feared there was no distinction anymore.

Something within him dreaded that if he said anything, revealed who he was, Dream would not react as kindly as George desperately hoped he would. Maybe he’d get angry, maybe he’d be so enraged that George had dared to seek him out, he’d take him out without a single moment of hesitation.

The one thing George tried not to think about was how he feared Dream might not remember him in the first place.

So, George lowered his gaze in shame, not knowing what to do. He wished for nothing more than being back at his base, wrapped in the warm covers of his bed, seeing Dream only in his reveries and not right in front of him.

George was at the mercy of a killer; and there was nothing he could have said to ensure his own safety.

Dream’s voice wavered just the tiniest bit. “Aren’t you going to elaborate?”

There was nothing George could have done to prevent it. “No.”

He saw the exact moment Dream’s patience finally snapped; the storm thundering across the sea.

“You come here, into _my_ territory, treat me without any respect, invade my space, and you have the _audacity_ to refuse me an explanation?!”, he growled, bending down and pushing George’s chin up so high he got dangerously close to his face, unable to move away. George could feel his own blood run down his neck as he stared into Dream’s hidden eyes, trying to stand his ground until the very end. If George was going to die, he was going to die with dignity.

“You are unbelievable; do you even know who you are talking to?!”, Dream said as his voice rose slightly.

George looked into the clumsily drawn eyes of his mask and imagined seeing the brilliant shade of emerald-green instead, and all he could think about was how he wanted to know the answer, too.

“I will give you two options; you either tell me why you’re here, or I’ll cut open that pretty little neck of yours.”, Dream said, voice calmer, but there was a small quiver to it.

“Let me go.”, George whispered in defeat.

He wanted to live; God, there was so much out there George hadn’t yet seen.

Dream clicked his tongue. “You want it? Beg.”

His words in combination with his intimidating proximity prohibited George from thinking straight.

“You wish.”, he answered, hoping that Dream did not see the tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

“There is only so much time you have to keep me entertained; and now, I am bored out of my mind. You won’t say anything? Fine. You came here on your own accord; and you’ll leave on mine.”, he declared, and there was a certain finality to his words that caused something within George to break.

“Please, just let me go. I made a mistake.”, he said, already knowing that there was nothing he could have done anymore.

Dream scoffed. “You really are pathetic. A mistake? How is wandering into the woods to seek me out a mistake? Listen to yourself.”

George felt his lower lip tremble a little. “How do you even know I came here looking for you?! Are you so full of yourself?!”

The masked man snorted. “No one dares to come here without a reason, and you already told me that you wanted to talk to me.”

“I made a mistake; I came here because I wasn’t thinking. There; is that what you wanted to hear?”, George said, his hands behind his back shaking violently.

How had this happened, where was his best friend?

“Kind of. You still haven’t told me what was so important to say that you risked your life coming here, but if I’m being honest? I don’t care. You’re merely one of Sapnap’s replaceable puppets; you’re no use to me.”, Dream said, tone laced with so much venom George could almost taste it on his own tongue.

He felt the exact moment everything around him shattered; and there was nothing but rage filling out his chest. Years’ worth of pain, weeks spent waiting on his front porch, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’d come home one day, he’d come to visit. Hours’ worth of writing letters that were never sent, and hours’ worth of re-reading the one’s he had. Decades of friendship that Dream had just burned in one single breath.

“I’m no use to you?! Fine then, let me go! Forget this happened, forget I exist as you already do, and live your life without ever crossing paths with me again! I won’t come here, ever again, I won’t step in front of your eyes, I won’t tell anyone I saw you. Just, fuck, let me go, Clay!”, he cried out, not bothering to hold back his tears.

Time stood still for just a second too long.

George felt the blade leave his chin, he felt Dream’s body take wavering steps back, and he saw all of the other’s composure fall.

“Georgie?”, Dream breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, it is my time to shine.   
> i hope you enjoyed, it's starting to get spiiiiiicy ;)))


	4. of trust and weeping willows

George stared at him, his body shivering due to the cold and panic. All he heard was his own harsh breathing, and the almost painful hammering of his heart against his heaving chest. Years of pain and longing came crashing down on him at once; all it took was hearing his name carefully falling from Dream’s lips in a whisper.

They stared at each other for a long time; George was wondering if he was going to fall unconscious any second.

He had no idea if Dream’s reaction had been positive; he had no way of reading him when all he saw was his dangerous posture, and not a single part of the face he used to be able to read like an open book.

George didn’t dare speak another word; he didn’t dare turn his gaze away from Dream. If he did, would he die?

But oh, George couldn’t help but silently wince at the throbbing ache that started to squeeze his heart tightly as the only thought that his mind chanted like a mantra was his nickname being said with so much emotion that he couldn’t place, couldn’t fully comprehend. Those few syllables had managed to pierce right through the thick skin he had so desperately tried to grow over the years, and he felt more helpless than he had all his life.

If Dream was to raise his axe and lower it to execute the final blow, George would not have the strength to move away.

The silence was loud in his ears, and at some point, George started to zone out. Even though his eyes were trained on Dream, his vision started to blur, from the tears or exhaustion? He had no idea. But George could no longer focus on Dream, he didn’t even see when the other made a step in his direction.

George wanted to speak. God, he wanted to scream his lungs out, but he did not have the will to do it, he was beaten, he had lost. In his head, he wished so dearly to tell Dream everything he had longed to say for all these years without him, he wanted nothing more than to let it all out in the hopes of finally finding some sort of closure. Dream was here; right within reach. This was his one and only chance to say it.

But he remained silent, because above exhaustion, above pain and pride, George was a coward when it came to his feelings.

Dream remembered him; he knew who George was. To what extent his memories went? The latter did not know, and he didn’t even want to find out. He didn’t want the truth to slice his heart in half once and for all.

When George heard a branch snap, he focused his gaze back on Dream, who was closer to him now. Not as close as before; but George could pick up on the soft scent of rainwater and spruce. It was an odd form of comfort.

Dream’s steps, for the first time all night, were uncertain. George stared at the body moving closer to him, and he held his breath in anticipation, wishing that whatever was to happen next would be over quickly.

Maybe Clay was still in there, somewhere; maybe he’d allow for George to leave weightlessly.

When Dream got so close George could feel his softly radiating body warmth, he closed his eyes, lowering his head.

George hoped Sapnap wouldn’t worry too much.

Yet, the excruciating pain never came, and when George opened his eyes to look up at Dream, he saw something in the other that he hadn’t seen before; hesitation.

Dream just stood there, staring at George, his grip on the axe strong and steady, but he made no move to swing it. George’s mind flooded with confusion, foolish hope, and worst of all, relief.

He shouldn’t have let his guard down; it was so stupid of him.

But it turned out that Dream did not take the easy opportunity George gave him when the latter relaxed his shoulders and allowed for emotions to flood his previously guarded eyes.

Instead, he did something George would never have expected.

In one swift moment, George saw Dream move, and he felt the ropes tying his hands behind him fall to the ground with an almost inaudible little thud.

For a short moment, George lost his balance, falling forward before catching himself with his now free hands.

George didn’t dare look up at Dream; he focused his eyes on the bruises on both of his wrists. They looked like bracelets; dark shades of blue and purple covering their fragility, small bloody wounds scattered across his porcelain skin. He immediately felt the need to hide them in shame.

But then, he heard Dream suck in a breath, and as George looked up, he realized what the other was trying to tell him.

Oh, the ever-notorious mercenary Dream, travelling the lands and leaving behind trails of blood, disappearing before anyone as much as felt the ghost of a breath brush their skin. A tale told in every household; children and adults warned alike. He was to be avoided at all costs if you wanted to stay alive, if you wanted to return to your family. Merciless, lethal, and absolutely insane. A man that was said to keep his victims captive, playing with them cruelly, but never once letting them escape his tightly fatal grasp.

A man that had just allowed for George to have a way out.

He stared up at Dream, trying his hardest to decipher what was going on in that brilliant head, trying to understand what it meant to be the only one known to be permitted escape from the inevitable death by the mercenary’s hand.

Dream took a step back, and George got up quickly, swaying slightly due to the dizziness in his head. He stood there only for a few seconds; enough for Dream to change his mind. And yet again, he didn’t.

George took one last glance at the man he once used to call his closest friend, his person, and turned around to get away from him as fast as he could.

George’s lungs were on fire, his entire body was aching with a pain so numbing George couldn’t trust himself to control his limbs anymore. Everything hurt, even parts of his body he didn’t believe could, but in the end, it was the absolute agony of leaving Dream behind that made him choke on a sob.

The woods were merciless; so was the heartache.

George had finally, after years of wishing for nothing more, found his best friend again. He had talked to him, Dream had touched him, he had been able to smell his comforting scent. This was a dream George had held onto for so long, even after telling himself that he shouldn’t, that he must move on, instead. This was the one fantasy he allowed to paint his mind with the brightest of colours, and he had to let him go.

Fate was cruel; as soon as George got a hold of something he loved more than anything else, it was ripped from his bare hands, and he was left feeling so very empty. It had always been that way; George could never have what he wanted the most.

George wished that things would have been different. He wished to never have recognized Dream’s unique movements among the countless soldiers. Yet selfishly, he also wished that Clay had never left in the first place.

But this was what George had to deal with; this was his life. He couldn’t just allow himself to wallow in self-pity and mourn years old wounds that should have been fully healed a very long time ago. No matter how much it hurt to accept that no matter where, no matter when, his and Clay’s paths were always star-crossed, he had to push forward, he had to keep going, and he had to return to his duties. There was no time for him to chase after something he could never have.

He had chosen this life; now, he had to deal with its countless sacrifices.

George had no idea where he was, the woods were so dense he could barely see through the trees and bushes. But in the dark? He saw nothing, and the trail he had been following was long lost after Dream had tackled him to the ground.

It was when George leaned against a tree, trying to calm down and think rationally, that he felt the same sensation making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It felt almost icky; George felt the air fill with tension yet again.

A pair of eyes on him; he was being watched. From where? There was no way for George to know.

So, had Dream changed his mind, after all? Would George meet his demise due to a big game of cat and mouse, by being hunted down?

He pushed his body forward and away from the tree, starting to walk in a different direction. He never felt the eyes on him leave.

Until he took a turn by a certain tree, and suddenly, there was nothing.

George sucked in a deep breath, looking around frantically, checking every branch he could see, dreading yet hoping to see Dream on one.

But the forest was quiet; and Dream was nowhere to be seen.

In the end, George didn’t know what made him do the thing he did next, but he decided to just listen to his gut, and his gut was telling him to go back to where he had last felt Dream’s eyes on him.

And sure enough; he noticed it instantly once he was back.

George looked around, still not able to see the other, and he understood that waiting was useless. He decided to go the other way, though, and he felt his heartbeat pick up when he realized the sensation never loosened its grip on him.

Dream was following him; but only to certain places?

George stopped in his tracks, slowly realizing what it could mean.

He had two options; either Dream was luring him into a trap, or he was helping him get out.

It was up to George to decide which one he would believe.

And curse his poor, poor idiotic heart, his never-wavering trust in someone he wasn’t even sure existed anymore, and his tainted yet blind faith.

George decided that just this once, he’d trust Dream. He had no other choice but to. 

Their little dance was easy; as soon as George would feel himself relax, he’d turn around immediately, reaching out to the feeling of dread again, with the careless wish to return to safety while he was being led by the embodiment of danger himself.

It was scarily easy; would this end in tragedy?

As he wandered around aimlessly, George’s eyes started to fall shut every once in a while, his focus completely lost, and he felt his body slowly start to give out. He had to take more breaks, each one longer than the other, he hated how vulnerable he was.

It took him a few seconds to realize that the tension around him had disappeared; and no matter where he went, he could not feel it anymore.

George was about to panic before he looked down, and with a small yelp of relief, realized that he was on the original trail again.

He knew exactly where he had to go now, how he would get back home.

George chose to ignore the gentle sensation warming him from the inside out, and he refused to name it. The fatigue had poisoned his mind, and he knew that without a lick of sleep, he’d allow for himself to get caught up in danger he’d not be able to escape from anymore.

Still, George looked behind him, staring at the tops of the trees as he raised his head, and his lips stretched into one single, tired smile.

“Thank you, Clay.”, he said, before turning around and walking towards the slowly appearing light behind the barely visible horizon he could make out between the tree trunks.

George stepped out of the woods, taking a deep breath, before his eyes caught a frantic figure running toward him, steps heavy with rage. The closer they got, the clearer it became to George that the man running towards him with the deepest frown he’d ever seen him wear was none other than Sapnap.

“Where the hell have you been?!”, was the last thing George heard before he felt his lips twitch into a reassuring smile that probably looked a lot more like a grimace, and he promptly collapsed, hitting the ground so hard the newly risen sun was immediately replaced by nothing but darkness, and everything around George disappeared.

­­___

George woke up covered in his sheets, his tent illuminated by nothing but the scarce light of almost completely burned-out candles. He could smell the scent of food in the air and he contently turned his head to the side as he sat up, only to discover someone next to him.

Of course, it was Sapnap; George’s memories came rushing back to him, filling the pit of his stomach with concern and guilt as he looked at his friend’s face.

Somehow, Sapnap looked way beyond his years; the candlelight highlighted his features, but it also threw shadows on his tanned skin, allowing for George to see the worry wrinkles and the eye bags, causing Sapnap’s face to look much older than he actually was, the usual liveliness of his features not present, instead replaced by a permanent ghost of a frown. George hated how exhausted he looked.

Guiltily, George noticed that the outside was dark again, meaning that Sapnap had most likely allowed him to sleep the entire day. He was unsure if he should have felt grateful or humiliated.

The other’s eyes shot up, and George felt even worse; all he saw in Sapnap’s eyes was relief. But somehow, the relief seemed to be covered in disappointment and something akin to mistrust.

“George, what were you thinking?”, Sapnap asked, voice rough and hoarse.

George averted his gaze; what was he supposed to tell him?

Dream was their arch enemy; if Sapnap was to find out that George had been with him, and escaped, let alone the fact that George knew Dream’s real identity, there was no guarantee on what he’d do.

Above all, Sapnap had a duty to fulfil. And he’d be willing to do what was asked of him, his loyalty would never allow for anything other than that. Sapnap prided himself in his work, and George was one of the people he trusted the most.

George was caught in the middle of a battlefield; two separate sides, and he had ties to both.

If it came down to it; who would he choose?

George felt his head hurt, and he decided that he’d worry about all of that later. Maybe he’d never even have to see Dream again and Sapnap would not have to find out what George had done.

“George?”, Sapnap started again.

George looked at him, and for just a second, he saw past the cold exterior the other kept up as a defence mechanism, he saw past the sharpness and hostility, and all he saw was his friend, eyeing him with such genuine worry it made George want to apologize, so he did.

“I’m sorry, Sap.”, he uttered, looking down at the hands in his lap in shame. The wounds were so openly visible; Sapnap did not comment on them, but George got the feeling that the other was just holding back, there was a tension charged with fury present in the tent.

“George,” he began, and George tried not to be hurt at the hint of iciness in his voice, “I went into your tent to check on you; and you were just gone. Don’t you realize how scared I was?”

George looked up. “Scared?”

Sapnap groaned in frustration. “Of course! What did you think I was going to assume? Your bed is empty, it’s the middle of the night, and I know you well enough to understand that this is absolutely not a normal thing for you to do!”

“You know that if they got me, I’d never say a word, right?”, George offered weakly, not knowing how he was going to get himself out of this mess.

Sapnap’s frown deepened and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “If they-, George what? Yes, I know that, but that’s not the point here.”

George mirrored the other’s expression. “It’s not?”

Sapnap snorted. “You’re an idiot, I can’t believe you. Of course not! George, I thought you’d gotten lost or something, or someone had kidnapped you! I was worried I’d not be able to find you!”

George smiled at the other, eyes filled with pure regret. “I’m sorry, Sapnap, I really am. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“What on earth were you doing in the woods alone? You know that it’s filled with all kinds of dangerous people!”, Sapnap said sternly, a slight trembling in his voice. His eyes widened comically. “Dream's said to reside in those woods! George, whatever your reasoning is, I don’t care; this was a suicide mission! You know better than that!”

“I had my reasons.”, George tried to argue defensively, but he knew the other was right.

“What kind of reasons could possibly be adequate, huh?”, Sapnap asked, and George bit his lip.

“I,” he started, unsure of what to do. George couldn’t rat out Dream; that was out of question. But what else could he tell Sapnap without the other catching him dead in the lie? Sapnap knew him too well for George to pull some bullshit. “Promise me you won’t be mad.”

“You know I can’t do that, George.”, Sapnap said after a sigh escaped his mouth, and George bit his lip nervously.

“Promise me not to cuss me out, at least?”, George suggested, and Sapnap nodded, albeit a little uncertain.

“I,” George spoke up again, heart racing, but this time he decided that it was best to tell half of the truth, at least, “I met up with an old friend of mine.”

Sapnap stayed silent for a while, searching for something in George’s face to give away the lie. When he didn’t find anything, he exhaled, rubbing his face with his hand tiredly. “You’re such an idiot.”

George pouted slightly. “You promised not to cuss me out!”

Sapnap rolled his eyes. “This is hardly an insult! But seriously; you just decided to go and meet an old pal,  _ in the middle of the night?  _ In the woods where people go missing  _ on the daily?! _ ”

George cleared his throat. “Pretty much, yes.”

Sapnap stared at him, and George shifted uncomfortably. He felt Sapnap’s burning gaze resting on his wounds; they felt a lot warmer, all of a sudden. He hated the disgusting taste in his mouth and the throbbing headache he was harbouring, George wanted nothing more than to fall asleep again. He felt awful.

All of a sudden, George felt a warm hand cover his. He looked up and saw his friend’s eyes, full of hurt. George felt like someone had punched him in the gut.

“George, what the hell happened?”, Sapnap asked, no bite in his voice.

“I already told you; I went to meet a friend of mine.”, George said weakly.

Sapnap’s grip on his hand tightened slightly, and he moved his other hand to gently brush over George’s injured wrists. “Don’t lie to me, George.”

The latter sighed. “I’m not lying. I know this looks bad, but believe me when I say that it looks worse than it actually is. You said it yourself; the woods are a dangerous place; he was just trying to defend himself. He didn’t recognize me at first, you know?”

Sapnap’s gaze never left his wrists. “But how, didn’t you agree to meet up?”

“No,” George said, and Sapnap looked at him in confusion before removing his hands from George, instead crossing them over his chest, “I actually, uhm. It’s complicated.”

“I’m here to listen.”, he said, and George understood that he would not be let off the hook this easily.

Sapnap was a lot of things; but one of his most prominent qualities was the protectiveness he held for the ones closest to him.

“He and I met when we were kids,” George started, sitting up a bit straighter so his back wouldn’t hurt as much, Sapnap remained silent, “That is an entirely different story; not relevant right now, maybe I’ll tell you another day.”

“Point is; he actually ended up leaving a few years back, and we lost contact. I only recently recognized him on the battlefield, and I just couldn’t help but…want to see him again, you know? I still hold our memories so dearly to my heart; I couldn’t just let him slip through my fingers.”, George explained, eyes focused on the small flickering light of a candle.

Sapnap hummed, and George took that as an invitation to continue. “I asked around a bit, and I found out that he was in the woods quite often, so I just decided to go. I know it was foolish of me; but Sap, I couldn’t help myself, okay? I miss him.”

Sapnap put a warm hand on his shoulder once he heard how George’s voice broke ever-so-slightly at the last words. “At one point during the night, I thought I saw an enemy, so I climbed a tree to hide, but I ended up falling because that dumb thing broke.”

Both of them chuckled lightly; George hoped the lie would get lost in their shared amusement.

“I did find him, we talked, and it was all good. He didn’t recognize me at first, that’s why he defended himself, but it’s fine, he realized early on. I apologize for worrying you; I promise I won’t do anything as reckless as this anymore.”, George finished, tilting his head as he tried to read Sapnap’s reaction.

“I think I understand,” Sapnap said, but George found that there was still a hint of uncertainty in his careful expression, and something in his mind told him that Sapnap did not believe the excuses for the wounds for even a second, “I’m happy you got to meet him again, but I really do hope you won’t pull stunts like these anymore. I cannot afford to lose one of my best soldiers, and one of my best friends.”

The younger was letting him off the hook; George felt like he didn’t deserve his trust.

George smiled softly. “I won’t. This was enough hustle, anyway. Next time I’ll just meet him somewhere safer.”

“Good idea.”, Sapnap said with a chuckle.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, before Sapnap’s eyes widened a little. “Oh, I actually got you some food! You must be starving.”

George sighed in relief as the other handed him a carefully made meal, and he giggled when he realized that Sapnap had apparently tried his hardest to make the food edible. He was not exactly known for being the greatest cook. “Thank you, Sap.”

The latter waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t mention it; it’s leftovers, anyway.”

George glared at him playfully. “No, it’s not. I know you guys were supposed to have meat today; this is porridge.”

“Whatever, just eat it.”, Sapnap replied but George could see the faint blush of embarrassment on his cheeks, and he’d be damned if he didn’t tease the other about it.

“Aww, Sapnap! You care so much about me, don’t you?”, George said mischievously.

Sapnap scoffed in mock offence. “I don’t care about you that much, shut up.”

George laughed. “You do! You love me so much!”

“Stop it!”, Sapnap said, face a little flushed.

As much as the other loved to verbally appreciate others, for some reason he couldn’t actually handle when people reminded him of it. George thought it was one of the funniest things in the world.

“You loooove me, I know you do! Don’t you remember, Sap? You’ve told me before-“ Sapnap’s hand shot up to cover George’s mouth, “Mpf!”

“No! Don’t bring that up!”, Sapnap said hurriedly as he yanked his hand away in disgust after George licked the palm of his hand, face smug.

“Sometimes, you truly gross me out, George,” he said, wiping his hand extra hard on George’s plain sheets, “but I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“I do,” George said after swallowing another spoonful of the surprisingly good porridge Sapnap had made, “Only because you’re the best healer in town.”

“That I am.”, Sapnap said, and they both giggled, the latter leaning back in his chair while George put away the now empty bowl, making himself comfortable in his bed.

He yawned, stretching his limbs tiredly and feeling relief flood his system when he realized that he no longer felt as awful, the only parts of his body that were hurting being his head and his wrists. He may have slept for hours already, but it wasn’t unusual for someone with a head injury to sleep unusually much. “I think I’ll sleep now, we have so much to do tomorrow.”

Sapnap nodded in agreement. “You really should, George.”

The younger looked at him one last time before leaving the tent, eyes hesitant. “Are you sure that whatever happened in the woods was okay?”

George looked at him, and when he said his next words, he couldn’t help but wonder why they were the truth. “Yes, it’s okay. It turned out well.”

Sapnap nodded and stepped out of the tent without another word, leaving George alone with his countless thoughts.

George rubbed his eyes before softly blowing out the candles in the tent, heading back to bed.

He had an entire additional night he could spend sleeping, and he knew that with his big soft heart, Sapnap would probably also allow him to sleep a little longer than the others.

Turning his back to the now closed entrance of the tent, George yawned one last time before falling asleep instantly, the weight of the past night’s events leaving his shoulders for the next few hours to come.

___

George placed it back on his nightstand so quickly it seemed like he had burned his fingers with its fiery intensity. His still yet not fully awake self stared at the rough paper, the phantom stench of smoke filling his nostrils.

_ George, _

_ Meet me by the weeping willow North of your base as soon as the sun fully sets. _

_ I will be waiting, _

_ —  _ _ C _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pog!!  
> the plot is slowly but surely starting to thicken, you guys don't even KNOW what's coming your way muhahahaha
> 
> i hope you enjoyed, have a great rest of your day/night!! <3


	5. of pink hair and a dimly lit tavern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright y'all, after that cliffhanger, have some backstory :))))) this takes place just after the first chapter/prologue, right after george leaves his village. <3

George left the inn he’d been staying at as early as he could, rising with the sun and clambering down a shabby staircase, almost tripping over the edge of a wooden plank in the dim light the narrow corridor provided. He took care to steady himself and to keep his steps as light as he could, not wanting to wake up any of the other guests, wincing as the door creaked loudly when he opened it.

The world outside was enveloped in fog, George breathing in the frigid air and immediately coughing as the cold air rushed into his lungs. He stepped out onto an unfamiliar path that wound itself through a garden he’d only seen the night before when he’d stumbled through it to get to the shabby building on the other side of it.

The gravel ground into the soles of his shoes as he walked along the path in quick strides, his body leaning to the right slightly due to his pack being slung across his right shoulder. As he felt his cheeks start to burn in the slight wind that was beating around him, he couldn’t stop the warmth blooming in his chest despite the freezing morning, nor the smile that tugged at his cheeks.

He loved not being home. He missed his parents and his sister, his house, the woods he’d played in as a child, even the small marketplace he’d detested so much because it was all so _normal, always the same_. But he had missed the world more, so he’d left, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

George revelled in the feeling of being lost. He felt safe knowing how many different people had walked the paths he now walked, he felt safe in unfamiliar faces and stranger’s voices.

He rushed down the path even faster as the inn’s stables entered his line of sight, jumping to dislodge the pack that was digging into his shoulder uncomfortably. He opened the stable door and sighed at the rush of warm air that hit his face, the smell of hay and the familiar smell of farm animals. The dark rooms welcomed him with the rustling of hooves and the sound of animals chewing through their breakfast. He whispered a greeting to one of the stableboys who nodded back at him.

By the time he rode past the pastures of the inn and onto the main road that led him through a sprawling village very unlike his own. The buildings stood closer together and looked somewhat different, even though they were roughly the same size. The windows were smaller and from what he could tell in the sparing morning light, most of them had different colors, too.

The sun had risen over the horizon and was throwing waves of orange light onto dewy grass. He tried settling in his saddle, swaying uncomfortably with his horse’s steps, legs sore from not having stopped to rest properly in about a week. He patted his horse’s neck apologetically; he’d let them both rest soon.

He was shaken out of feeling sorry for his horse and himself as a young girl came running up the street in his direction, head wrapped up in a thick shawl, an empty sack bunched together in her hand. He called out to her as she was within hearing distance and she halted, standing before him while taking wheezing breaths in through her mouth.

George smiled apologetically as he said, “I’m sorry to bother you, but could you please tell me where I am?” He had just been travelling aimlessly since he had left his village, but he needed to be sure that he would be able to reach a place where he’d be able to rest for a few days comfortably.

She blinked at him in evident confusion, shoulders heaving and taking a deep breath to calm down a little before telling him, “The Southern Empire, near the coast, our village is called Portfield. Do you need directions?”

George couldn’t help the gentle huff of amusement that fought its way out from between his chapped lips, his face growing sober again as she threw him a scathing look.

“I’m really sorry, you just seem very used to people being confused concerning their whereabouts.”

She snickered at his words. “A lot of people come here from a good distance away. We’re famous for our wine.”

“I see. I do need directions, is there a village or a town I would be able to get to in about a day’s travel?” George asked, smiling at her awkwardly. His horse stomped his hoof to the ground and huffed, impatient to continue.

She paused to think for a moment before she said, “On horseback you would be able to reach Willowkirk by today’s evenin’ if you get on your way now, it’s a town right by the coast. I’ve been there before, the castle there is really beautiful and if you ride out towards the farms, you’ll be able to see the ocean, if that’s what you like.”

George nodded in agreement, “Yes, that seems perfect.” A town would have good lodgings and a place for him to let his horse get some rest. “How do I get there?”

She turned her head and pointed to the direction he had been heading towards. “Follow the road in that direction, after some time you should reach a forest. It’s pretty dense, but you can’t really get lost if you just stick to the path. Once you’re on the other side of the forest you should reach a crossroads, turn right there. In case you forget, there is a sign that points to Stonewall, that’s the castle the town is built around, and you should be there by evenin’, as I said. It’s pretty safe in this region, there is never much fightin’, but you should still watch out for yourself.”

George thought it over a few times in his head so that the directions and names wouldn’t slip his mind, then said “Thank you for the directions, can I help you out somehow before I leave, as thanks?”

She let out a short laugh and threw the empty sack that had been slung over her shoulder up towards him. He fumbled to catch it.

“Sure, why not. I wasn’t lookin’ forward to carryin’ breakfast back home by myself.”

She started walking in the direction she had been heading in and he dismounted his horse, throwing the reins over the mare’s head and leading it beside him as he followed her, noticing that the end of her shawl had come undone, pink hair peeking out from underneath it. She noticed moments after he did and stuffed the rough looking fabric back into the collar of her jacket, hiding her bright hair from sight. They walked in silence for a few steps before George gave into his curiosity and inquired, “I’m sorry if this is intrusive, but could I ask you something?”

“If it's intrusive I'm not answerin', but ask away.”

“I’ve been asking around about the war ever since I left my village, but if you don’t know anyone closely, it’s pretty hard to find any useful or non-biased information. I wanted to ask if you know anything about it, about what’s really going on.”

George had been away from his village for just over two fortnights, and as many people as he asked, as many drinks as he bought, he couldn’t get any information that was useful, that would help him, _that would bring him closer to Clay_. He shook the last thought off as soon as he recognized it from the many years he’d spent alone in his village, waiting for someone who never did come back for him.

L’Manburg had gone to war with the Southern Empire, after a long time of petty conflicts that nobody would take seriously. At dawn, a noble from L’Manburg had – mistakenly or intentionally, depending on who you asked — crossed over into SMP territory, been mistaken for — or rightfully recognized as — an enemy and killed.

At dusk, they were at war. Just like that.

George had always imagined that for war to break out, something big would have to happen. A king had to die, castles had to fall, villages needed to burn until there was nothing left. But nobody knew the noble’s name, nobody even knew what truly happened, and the two biggest nations on the continent were about to rip each other to shreds. The destruction, George learned, often came only after the war had already started.

She sighed, kicking a large rock off the street into the grass. “At least tell me your name, before I go spillin’ my heart out to a stranger.”

George’s heart jumped at her words, scarcely allowing himself to hope. She actually knew something? He had only asked because he was already talking to her, because he had grown used to inquiring about the war as often as he could, but usually he didn’t go ahead and ask people who looked like they probably weren’t old enough to take a single step into a tavern without being chased out by a broom-wielding owner. Although he had to admit that she seemed brighter than kids her age normally were.

The light of the morning made her brown eyes flare up with a red glow when she looked over to him for a short moment before returning her gaze to the path before her. A few strands of pink hair had slipped out of her shawl, dangling before her eyes. She huffed at them angrily, cheeks puffing out, lifting them from her face briefly before they came fluttering back down again.

George couldn’t help but stumble over his words a little as he answered her question. “George. My name is George. What’s yours? What do you know? I mean, you don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not comfortable with it, I just assumed that—”

She interrupted his rambling with a flick to the side of his head that made him clap his hand over his head in surprise and glare at her accusingly. She didn’t look back at him.

“As I was sayin’. George. Nice to meet you, George. I really want to talk to someone about this, but my mom would be furious if I tried talkin’ to her about it. To her it’s bad enough that my brother left for the war, me talkin’ about it would challenge her nerves more than they ought to be challenged.” She wouldn’t look at him as she spoke, so George figured he shouldn’t look at her either, maybe she was more comfortable talking that way.

“My brother left for the army before the war even started.” Her voice was indifferent, but George suspected that she was much more worried than she let on. “He was with the army of the SMP, but then left to join L’Manburg, because that’s where his dad fights. Now he’s more or less independent but still keeps in contact with both sides. He’s always worked best alone, though.” She fell silent, and George felt bad for the impatience that washed over him, not wanting to rush her.

“Ah, here we are! Give me my bag please, I’ll be back soon.”

George handed it to her with a smile he hoped was comforting, the corners of her mouth lifting up to mimic his expression back at him, taking off into what George recognized as a bakery. She was probably buying breakfast for her and her mother then, he mused.

The fog had let up, letting the autumn sun shine gently through the sparse clouds hiding it from sight. The previously empty street was getting busier with people out to run errands and farmers on their way to the wine fields right outside the village with carts in tow, the familiar sounds of the dawn in a village comforting to George. Even though he loved the strangeness of the world, now that he wasn’t home anymore, the safety of home suddenly didn’t seem as suffocating as it once did.

He let out a wistful sigh. The thing he had missed most when he was still home was Clay and somehow, when he set out, he couldn’t ever give up the bizarre hope that he’d find him again, that he wouldn’t even have to go looking for him. His imagination led him from meeting Clay in the street and hugging him, Clay lifting him up and twirling him around, wheezing laughter brushing softly against his ear and sending barely concealed shivers down his spine, to Clay not even recognizing him anymore. He couldn’t decide what hurt more to think about.

He hoped to never find Clay, because he wanted Clay to find him. The blonde was the one who left, and so he should be the one to find his way back. He knew he was foolish and angry and haunted by the fear that his best friend wasn’t even alive anymore, but he couldn’t stop the thoughts once he dwelled on them for too long. How he wanted Clay to find him, to hug him, to never let him go. To—, he shook his head furiously in an attempt to shake the thought out of his head like an apple off its tree before it could even form, heat rising to his cheeks that were already reddened by the cold.

“Alright, you can carry this!”

Thankful to the girl for pulling him out of his own head but not so grateful that she made him carry her breakfast, he tied her bag to his horse’s saddle and hurried along to catch up, because she had already started walking.

“So, where was I? Ah, yes. My brother writes me letters because he knows I want to know what’s going on. The Southern Empire is still recruitin’ — not because they technically need to, mind you, they were fully ready for war before it broke out — but because a lot of the higher-ups are afraid that L’Manburg has some way to one-up them. They aren’t superior in numbers, but after that noble died, they sent a huge list of demands to the SMP that would,” her voice took on a mocking tone, ”stop them from waging war.”

She paused to look around, as if to make sure that nobody had heard them, but the chatter in the street was covering up their conversation.

“Land, Money, Weapons, Soldiers — if you can want it, it was probably on that list. It was like a very violent six year old writin’ down what they want to have for their birthday. They fully knew that the Southern Empire would never give in. They wanted— they _started_ this war. So either they’re stupid, or they have somethin’ the SMP doesn’t.”

They both fell into silence as they continued walking, sounds of chatter engulfing them, someone brushing against the burnettes shoulder occasionally as people passed him. George’s mind was reeling; who was this girl? He didn’t even know her, but she radiated a quiet power and intelligence that made him feel small and hold on, why was he intimidated by a pink-haired ten year old? He was transporting her breakfast, he thought, shaking his head at himself and sighing as he watched her swing her arms aggressively in time with her steps. Somehow, he was even more confused now than ever, even though he’d technically gotten the answers he had been looking for.

Why would L'Manburg deliberately start a war? What did they have that the Southern Empire, that the people didn't know about? 

She stopped in front of a small, yellow house, unwrapping the shawl from around her head as she moved to enter her house. “Alright, this is me. Thanks for carryin’ breakfast, George. Safe travels!” Her pink hair spilled over her shoulders in a slightly frizzy and tangled blanket, the baby pink tips of what George thought were her ears peeking out from underneath.

He handed her the bag that his horse had bravely carried all the way to her house, saying to her, “Thank you for the directions and for talking to me. But I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

The pinkette took the bag from his grasp and shot him a grin that showed off her uncommonly sharp cuspids. “Bye, Georgie.”

He felt something cold tug at his heart at the nickname, not even noticing that she’d already closed the door behind her, and that he, _still_ , had no idea who she actually was.

\---

George shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. The sun was already setting, the sky turning a dark shade of violet, and he still hadn’t reached the town that he was supposed to get to by evening. His legs were sore and his horse kept trying to drag him over to the side of the road that the pink-haired girl had told him to follow to nibble at the grass growing there, huffing out frustrated breaths when he lightly pulled on the reins to lead his horse back onto the path.

His unfocused gaze registered something in the distance, quickly blinking his eyes to get rid of the blurriness he made out the faint outline of a castle, under which a town sprawled lazily outwards. He could also already see the fields that the girl had described the ocean to lay behind. He huffed out an elated breath; he was safe for the night, and this looked like a peaceful enough place to spend a few days.

He entered through the stone arc that tore the stone wall bordering the town into two, being waved over by the guards who asked him a few questions about where he had come from, why had he come here, did he have any weapons with him, for how long would he stay, before eventually letting him pass with nods and returning to their posts.

His gaze wouldn’t rest, everything was so new. The brunette had only come across two towns during his travels, none as big as this one. Even though it was already getting dark, the streets seemed too crowded for even the midday rush, it was almost like in the towns, people awoke during the night to sleep while the sun was up.

Buildings of white material with sturdy wooden frames encased the main stone path, he could see small alleys branching off the main path in between buildings, leading into forgotten corners of the town. The loud, unfamiliar noises of a night in a town soothed him, the marketplace was bustling and he could already see several men, arm in arm, walking down the street, swaying in their step like seasick sailors during a storm and singing so horrendously George would not have listened if he was paid to do so.

He could see soldiers standing at the edges of the crowd, barely concealed by the shadows of street corners, and did his best not to look at them, did his best not to seem suspicious and to try and ignore their presence as much as he could.

But what took his breath away wasn’t the bright colors of the town, it wasn’t the lamps illuminating the street that drenched the people and animals below it in a holy light. It was the castle looming over the town as a dark shadow, only visible because it broke the tapestry of stars that had begun covering the dark blue ink of the night sky, up a hill, towering and terrifying and beautiful.

He could see a light shining on top of one of the tallest towers like a beacon, calling out and guiding ships safely back to shore. He shivered at the sight, just as reverent as he was terrified, leading his gaze back to the road.

His horse’s slow trot soothed him as he started scanning his surroundings more carefully. After a few more minutes of walking, he saw a stable being advertised for taking horses in temporarily.

His horse nudged him with what George thought was either gratefulness or spite as he lowered his head into the bucket of food that was offered and began munching. The boy made smalltalk with the stable’s owner as he paid him, though not wanting to bother the man for much longer because he seemed tired, eyes drooping and badly suppressing his yawns, he left right after.

Walking through the crowd was more stifling than it had been on horseback, he carefully had to maneuver around the stands and children that were weaving through the stands and laughing shrilly. He had to find an inn, but this, he thought as he saw a subtle sign hanging over a small tavern he had almost overlooked, hidden in a narrow side street, would do just as well.

The wooden door creaked as he pulled it open, a shiver running over him as the warm air that smelled of old wood and ale wafted into his face, George not even having noticed how cold it had been outside. The man standing behind a wooden counter who was wiping down a glass stopped in his action to throw a smile his way and wave lazily, the gesture returned by George who instantly felt a warmth creep into his heart too, feeling welcomed as a few of the guests nodded and smiled at him as he walked past them. He could see two women in the corner of the bar whose faces were a little too close together, a loving look in their eyes. The boy instinctively looked just about anywhere else than at them.

He strode towards the stools assembled before the bar, thinking that maybe he could chat with the bartender. Bartenders overheard a lot of stuff others wouldn’t, George knew, what with them seeing and more importantly overhearing people with no inhibitions on the daily. Maybe he’d know something that would rival the knowledge of a sassy ten year old with obnoxious hair.

His lips quirked upwards as the bartenders did when he sat down. Used to starting conversations with strangers by now, he quickly started, “Hello, how are you doing? This bar is one of the best kept up ones I’ve come across in a while.”

He was trying to flatter the man, but he also wasn’t lying. The dark wood of the interior paired with the cozy smell, dim light and the sound of fire crackling somewhere amidst the low hush of conversation created a calming atmosphere, a harsh contrast to the noise and commotion outside that he could still hear from outside the door as though it was wrapped in cotton.

The dark haired man beamed at him, dimples carving into his face. “Thank you so much, I try my hardest. First drink is on me, for indulging my vanity.”

The taller man punctuated his sentence with a barely noticeable wink before pouring him a drink, and George could feel the blood rise into his cheeks at the other’s voice.

If it wasn’t for Clay-

He started talking to tear the newly forming thought from his mind with practiced ease. “You’re welcome. I’m George, it’s nice to meet you.”

The man huffed out a deep chuckle. “You can call me Corpse. So, George,” he said as he placed a glass in front of him and leaned down onto his elbows, placing them on the same eye level, “what brings you here?”

“I sort of ran away from all my problems with my horse and some money that will most likely run out very soon. I’m sort of but also not really looking for my best friend who, wow, the guy left me, I don’t know how many years ago. Is he still alive? No idea. Where is he? I do not know. Now I’m in a bar after being led here and harassed by a child this morning because I’m trying to get information about a war that I have no business knowing anything about.”

No, George thought, the truth was not an option.

“I’m just travelling a little, out to see the world and all.” Technically not a lie.

“During a war?” Oh, but his lie had been quite garbage, by the looks of it. Maybe a little more of the truth wouldn’t hurt.

George blinked at him, sheepishness sinking into his voice as he explained, “Well, I’m sort of looking for someone. I don’t really know where to start looking though, so I’ve just been travelling around, hoping that I’ll find him somehow. But seeing the world has been so wonderful, I’ve met so many amazing people”, he couldn’t help but think back at the pinkette he’d met that morning, he hadn’t even gotten her name, “and learned so many new things. I never really knew how different people speak when they’re from different places, for example.”

Corpse leaned back into standing, a thoughtful look on his face as though he was making a conscious effort to really think about what the other had told him, “I guess that really is weird, I’ve never thought about it because lots of different people from all over the world pass through here every day. I grew up here, so I probably got used to it.”

“This town seems like an amazing place to grow up in.”

“It used to be even more beautiful before the war started. The market has become emptier than ever, and if you come from a secluded place the crowds in the street may seem big to you, but for Willowkirk, it’s downright quiet. The war hasn’t really affected us here, not yet, but people are starting to fear it. The soldiers in the street scare many people away.”

George nodded. “Yes, to me, the crowd seemed huge, and the soldiers looked pretty threatening, even though they just stared at everyone walking by. I get why it would make people uncomfortable, though I do have to say I still really like it here so far.”

Corpse’s lips twisted into a smug expression, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’re very welcome, pretty boy.”

The brown-haired man could feel the blood rising in his cheeks and painting them a blotchy red, but forced his gaze to lock onto the man before him. “I- I didn’t say I enjoyed it here because of _you_ , your town is just very beautiful.”

“Alright, whatever you say, George. You can let your guard down here, by the way. The people here understand.” With one last smile that looked somehow more calm, more serious than the ones before it, he turned away from the other boy. George shook his head in confusion at the man, turning to his drink and sipping at it. It was lukewarm and tasted like apples, but also something bitter.

The brown-haired man flinched as he heard a loud noise behind him, turning around with panic flooding his body in aggressive waves. He breathed out a sigh he hadn’t known he was holding in as he saw that it was only a group of drunk people having entered the bar. His heart was still racing, and he took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

He told himself often, he was convinced that he wasn’t scared of the war, that he wasn’t as terrified as the people who wouldn’t leave their houses because soldiers were watching their every move, but part of the reason he wanted to know so much about it was that he truly was afraid of of the war, but he was even more terrified of being clueless, of everything that was happening in the world passing him by.

The man could hear slurred words and jeers from behind him, but he knew that nothing was wrong, he had seen that nothing was wrong. He placed a hand over his heart, feeling it beating a furious rhythm in his chest.

“Hey beautiful, do you come here often?”

“THE FOCK YOU SAY TO ME YOU LITTLE CUNT-”

“Hey, it’s alright, he probably didn’t mean to be rude, though you should still say sorry, you probably made her uncomfortable, Sapnap-”

“DAMN RIGHT YOU DID, SAPLING-”

His curiosity got the better of George, and he turned around to see a woman standing on a bench, towering over a tipsy boy who could barely be older than George himself. Someone, probably a friend, was standing next to them, holding… Sapnap? off with one arm and the other thrown in front of the woman as though she was about to attack them. The group of people they had both come through the door with earlier was standing off to the side watching it go down.

A girl was holding her stomach, letting out occasional wheezes as she pointed at Sapnap weakly. The guy standing next to her was tapping her shoulder repeatedly and throwing stern glances at her every once in a while, seeming much more worried for Sapnap’s wellbeing than she was. Another man with fluffy brown hair stood behind them, staring into space with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, looking like he should’ve passed out from drinking too much a good while ago.

Sapnap’s speech was slightly slurred as he told her with a shit eating grin on his face, “Remember me? Oh, that’s right, I’ve only met you in my dreams.”, and George could hold back the bark of laughter that escaped him at the man’s words. Did he have a death wish? Judging by the look in the woman’s eyes, he would’ve been successful if his friend didn’t profusely apologize to the woman while trying to pull Sapnap away from her, the woman’s blonde friend speaking to her quietly and smiling in what George thought was a valiant attempt to calm her down. The girl that had been laughing at Sapnap walked towards them, saying something along the lines of, “I’m Alyssa, I love you, you’re incredible, I’m your biggest fan.”

Sapnap though was busy staring accusingly at George, probably because he’d laughed at him. The older boy’s smile faded as he turned around, embarrassed that he’d noticed him.

He lifted his gaze again as Corpse sauntered over to George, towel slung over his shoulder. Crow’s feet dug into his skin as he smiled, mischief twinkling in his eyes as he looked at something behind George, who didn’t have time to turn around before he felt a heavy arm being swung onto his shoulder. He flinched, before relaxing just a little when he saw that it was the guy who had flirted with the scary woman.

His words slurred together just a little as he leaned his head down towards George’s, a shit-eating grin on his face, “Hey beautiful, d’you come here often? Can I buy you a drink?”

The end of his sentence was swallowed up by a hiccup, and George couldn’t help the anxiety that rushed up in him, nervously looking around himself to check whether anyone had seen them, had heard what Sapnap had said. His gaze caught Corpse’s, whose smile hadn’t disappeared the way George thought it would have. Instead, he winked at them both before calling out to a waiter.

The brunette cleared his throat before moving out from under Sapnap’s arm, trying to keep his voice steady and free of the amusement that he felt as he saw up-close how utterly shitfaced Sapnap was. How was he still standing?

“I’m sorry Sapnap, I’m going to have to decline.” A giggle escaped his throat at Sapnap’s crestfallen face, the most adorable puppy-dog eyes he’d seen since Clay’s green irises that would shimmer with mock-sadness every time George refused to share something with him. And maybe he had always planned to give Clay everything he had if he just asked; maybe he just wanted to see Clay’s eyes shine up at him with badly concealed adoration when he inevitably handed anything he wanted to him every single time.

“Though you can still buy me that drink, if you want.”

The shit-eating grin returned to Sapnap’s face as he threw himself down into the seat next to George’s, shouting for Corpse to bring them some drinks, before turning back to the boy sitting next to him in adorable confusion. “Hey, how do you know my name?”  
  
“You got yelled at earlier.”

“Ah, I see. Yes, that happens sometimes.”

George chuckled. “Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t go up to random people and assault their ears with the worst pickup-lines known to man.”

“Yeeeah, but it worked on you, didn’t it?” The younger boy waggled his eyebrows obnoxiously, swaying in his seat, making George snort back the tiny sip he had just been taking from his drink.

“Well,” George said before giving into the cough scratching at his throat. “It didn’t work the way you intended it to.”

“That’s true,” Sapnap said, pouting, before his face lit up with childlike joy as he said triumphantly, “but you didn’t yell at me! That means I’m getting better at flirting!”

“Yeah, for sure.” George suddenly remembered that he hadn’t even told Sapnap his name. “I’m George by the way, it’s nice to meet you.”

Sapnap grinned sheepishly. “Oh, I didn’t ask you that, did I? Sorry man, it’s nice to meet you George! I’m Sapnap, me and Karl over there,” he pointed over to the friend that had saved him from the scary woman earlier, “and our friends are here because of work.” Karl was sitting with the group George recognized as the people Sapnap had come in through the door with earlier.

They had sat down with the scary woman and her friend. Fluffy hair had by the looks of it finally succumbed to the alcohol in his system, passed out with his head propped up in the blonde girl’s lap as her hand rested lightly on his forehead. Her own head laid on the scary woman’s shoulder who was completely calm now that Sapnap wasn’t near her anymore, talking to Alyssa like nothing had happened.

Sapnap looked along with him, shaking his head. “I can’t believe they’re teaming up with someone who rejected me.”

“You’re sort of teaming up with me too, and I rejected you.”

Sapnap seemed to genuinely ponder his words, before admitting that, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

A silence lingered between them, the buzz of alcohol rushing through their system comfortably preventing it from being awkward. The chatter of the guests had slowly died out, turning from a steady hum to quiet whispers as the night had dragged on, the noise of the crowds in the street that had been filtering through the door all night slowly dwindling into silence, only flaring up slightly when one of the patrons left for the night and opened the door to the chilly night air.

The tavern’s atmosphere had been oddly peaceful to begin with as soon as George had entered, but now it was calm and quiet, unusually so. The older of the two boys sitting in silence couldn’t help but grow tired of it, turning to Sapnap and asking, “So, you mentioned that you were here because of work, right?”

Sapnap blinked in surprise at being spoken to, eyes bleary, looking tired and like he was going to fall off his chair soon. “Oh, uh, yeah, we’re just passing through to help the local military because they’re having some issues. Something about a guy falling off a horse and getting impaled on a fence? Not sure about the details, and not sure I really wanna know.”

The tiredness that had begun to cloud George’s mind evaporated at the other man’s words. His mind was racing, because why would Sapnap be helping the local military if he wasn’t someone who was on a higher level than them? George tried to keep his hands from shaking and cleared his throat that suddenly felt too tight.

He tried to sound as neutral as he possibly could as he said, “Oh, that’s… kind of gruesome. Why are you helping the local military, though?”

Sapnap was getting drowsy, but George hung on his every word when he explained, “We were on our way to the SMP’s border and received an _urgent message_ ,” he emphasized his last words by sloppily forming quotation marks in the air, “so we decided to stay here for a little bit. We’ll be gone in about two days, oh but Gogy, you know what? You should come see us tomorrow!”

George couldn’t help the giddy smile that spread across his face at Sapnap’s words. This was what he had been looking for, this was his shot. And Sapnap seemed like an amazing guy, maybe they could become friends. But he didn’t want Sapnap to think that he was just using him for his position, so he tried to keep the burning feeling of _finally, finally, finally_ locked firmly in his chest, trying his best to focus on everything else Sapnap had said. With a huff of nervous laughter, he tried to joke, “Why did you flirt with me then, Sappy? Would you just have left me to wait on you like a maiden on her soldier?”

George thought he saw a shadow pass over Sapnap’s face at his words, gone as soon as he noticed it was there in the first place. The latter’s laughter was loud in the quiet tavern. “No, I would’ve come back for you, of course.”

Before George could reply, Corpse walked up to them, looking tired but significantly more awake than either of them.

“Hey George, maybe you should take Sap home? He looks like he’s about to fall asleep, I don’t wanna carry him home. Again.”

A barely audible mumble, “Love you too, Corpse.”

The brown-haired man was taken aback by Corpse’s words, because didn’t Sapnap come here with friends? Why would Sapnap need him to bring him home? George turned around and saw that they were pretty much the only people still left. He turned back to the other two and saw Corpse watching him with a sly grin. “Yeaaah, they thought Sapnap had found _occupation_ for the night, so they left.” He turned to Sapnap. “Weirdly, Karl looked _very_ disappointed. Wonder what that was about. What would you say, Sap?”

Sapnap’s voice sounded scarily sober when he glared at Corpse and said, “I know what you’re doing. Stop.”

Corpse’s grin turned into a smile that carried marks of pity as he pet Sapnap’s head. “Sure, little one. George, can you get him home?”  
  
The man nodded hastily, “Yeah, yeah, sure. Come on, Sapnap.”

He threw his arm over Sapnap’s shoulder, the man groaning in annoyance as he was pulled from his chair, both of them almost stumbling to the floor. They made their way to the door and the more sober of the two turning back to wave Corpse goodbye. The latter returned the gesture with a serene smile.

George pushed open the door and winced as the freezing cold air of the night hit his face. His breath formed a cloud in front of his face as he breathed out. The dark streets were unfamiliar to him, so he shook Sapnap softly, asking him, “Hey, Sapnap, where do you have to go?” The man mumbled something under his breath and gestured along an alley to the right.

As they walked down the street, George couldn’t help the thoughts that flew around his mind in the cold silence, out of his control. He finally, _finally_ had a chance to catch up to Clay. And even if Clay was already gone, even though he couldn’t bear to think about it, at least he’d have a chance to know what had happened to him, right?

Maybe he’d finally know what he really meant to Clay, he thought, somewhat bitter, cold wind beating around him.

“Here, Gogy. I gotta go in here.”

George smiled fondly at his newfound friend. “Alright Sappy, where should I meet you tomorrow?”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Sapnap yawned, “the field right outside the entrance. Y’know. Big gate. Really fancy.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Can you get up the stairs by yourself?”

Sapnap untangled himself from under George’s arm and moved to enter the building.

“Ya. G’night.”

\---

“Oh no.”

George broke out in sharp laughter at the crestfallen look on Sapnap’s face.

“Please tell me I didn’t.” His friends were standing around him, swords in hand, stopping in their training to openly gawk at the both of them. He could see Alyssa and the boy with the fluffy hair leaning against each other, napping under a tree, probably completely hungover.

George grinned at him. “I’m pretty sure you did, beautiful.”


	6. of scary women and campfires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take some more plot. :p
> 
> also, techno niki friendship supremacy. that is all, enjoy <3

“Don’t lean so far forward, George, you’re gonna fall over. Weight back onto your heels.”

George huffed out a frustrated breath from between his gritted teeth, following Sapnap’s command. He had been told the same thing so many times already he had lost count, but remembering everything he was supposed to all at once was harder than he had thought it would be, frustrated with himself for not being able to remember everything he was supposed to.

When he agreed to training with Sapnap, he had to admit to himself that his expectations had been far from reality. He had expected him to be as goofy as he always was, but when it came to fighting, Sapnap seemed to turn into a different person.

Anytime George had tried to talk about anything at all in the first few minutes of being instructed by Sapnap, it had fallen on deaf ears and deadpan stares. His usually easy-going demeanor turned into something harsh and unforgiving, eyes raking over George’s stance and grasp on his sword without giving him room for error, pointing out a slightly turned-out foot or a sword held at a wrong angle until George cringed at every correction he was given.

Though, Sapnap was, for all that he was strict and unforgiving in his teachings, patient. George had been terrified the first few times he had been given the exact same correction once he had forgotten it, but Sapnap just kept correcting him in the same harsh but fair tone, and George felt himself able to concentrate better once he realized that all he had to do was try his best, and he wouldn’t be punished for his mistakes.

“Bend your knees a little, that way it’ll be easier for you to keep your balance.”

George did as he was told, stabbing at air the way he had so often seen Clay do when they were little, but he suspected that his movements held far more grace than even eight year old Clay’s did.

“No, George, wait, you’re gonna tear a muscle if you keep this up, you have to-”

Sapnap strode towards him from where he was watching a few metres away, George halting in his movements as he saw the other approaching. Sapnap grasped at his arm and put it in a slightly different position where George could immediately feel his muscles tense up from the effort, but the uncomfortable feeling in the shoulder of his sword arm that had plagued him for a little while seemed to ease up a little. He felt the urge to smile at Sapnap, grateful to the other for teaching him, but he resorted to just nodding at him, adding the slightly different hold he had on his sword onto his mental list of things to remember that was slowly piling up in the back of his mind.

His body was aching; despite him having been on the road for weeks, his body hadn’t yet fully become used to the strain of moderate exercise, let alone the rigorous training Sapnap was putting him through. The brunette could feel his left arm that was grasping onto his sword become sluggish and numb with every movement, making him feel like a particularly harsh gust of wind could disarm him with little to no effort. His feet were aching and every few seconds, a sharp, stabbing pain ran through the small of his back all the way up to his shoulder blades, making him wince.

The usually soothing sun of early spring was looming almost directly over him, burning his face and exposed neck with a gentle glow, sweat dripping down his forehead in irritatingly itchy droplets, making it harder and harder to concentrate. They had been training since shortly after dawn, and as much as George wanted to continue, wanted to keep learning, he knew that he’d soon have to stop, because going against the signals of pain his body was screaming at him would only hurt him in the long run. His lungs were burning and every hurried breath he took was accompanied by a slight wheeze.

“Alright George, that’s enough, you look like you’re about to pass out,” he heard footsteps hurrying towards him and sagged in relief at Sapnap’s words, letting the other take the sword from his hand and check him for injuries, probably because of the numerous times he’d tripped over his own feet, George thought, faint embarrassment coursing through him at the memory of faceplanting into the dirt that had still been slightly frozen in the early morning.

George clenched and unclenched his left fist, his hand trembling as he slowly moved it in an attempt to soothe the pain.

“It’s alright, if you keep training, you’ll get used to it in a few weeks,” Sapnap told him, his voice suddenly quieter and gentler than it had been just seconds before. George looked up from his hand at the other’s words, looking into sympathetic eyes that had been watching over his movements without pity for the pain he’d been putting him through for the past few hours. The change startled him, but in a way it also wasn’t surprising in the least. Sapnap was ruthless when fighting or instructing, but he was also easy-going and caring, and George felt pretty sure that Sapnap had been watching out for his limits all along, or at least he hoped so.

“Thank you, Sap,” George uttered as soon as he felt like he’d caught his breath enough to speak. The other just smiled at him, the skin around dark brown eyes crinkling at its corners.

“Come on, Gogy, we’re gonna miss lunch,” Sapnap nudged George’s shoulder with his own, walking off to where people were already starting to gather around a couple of makeshift tables set out on the grass next to the empty field they had trampled. George felt his stomach grumble and his mouth water at the thought of food, hurrying to catch up with Sapnap who was already a few steps ahead of him.

\---

“Everyone, meet George. George, this is everyone.” George waved as Sapnap pointed to him, feeling slightly out of place and hoping that nobody had seen his blunders during training. He recognized a few of the people sitting by the table as Sapnap’s friends from the tavern.

“Hey George, nice to meet you,” a tired voice called out to him and he looked in the direction it had come from, his eyes landing on the girl he knew to be Alyssa. She was holding her head up with her hands, looking tired but not like she’d been exercising, rather as though she’d been sleeping for the past twenty hours. He’d seen her napping when he had arrived in the morning, so maybe that observation wasn’t completely wrong, George thought.

“I’m a bit surprised you can still walk, my dude. _And_ you’re actually training, that’s respectable.” Sapnap sputtered next to him and George was about to ask what she meant before he understood what Alyssa was trying to say, feeling the blood rise in his cheeks at her words. Most of the people laughed at them, though he saw Karl glaring at Alyssa accusingly and the person next to her inclining his head towards Karl and vehemently shaking his head at her.

George almost tripped over his words as he answered, “No hold on, I think you might have the wrong idea, I didn’t- _we_ didn’t do... _that-_ ”

Sapnap next to him sighed in mock resignation and patted George’s shoulder as he walked past him to sit down in the free spot next to Alyssa, “Not for a lack of me trying, that’s for sure.”

“Awww, did my poor Sappy Nappy get rejected?”, she jokingly pouted as she threw her arm over his shoulder and hugged his head to her own. Sapnap pretended to start crying, burrowing his head in her shoulder, while she dramatically shushed him and dragged the hand she wasn’t using to shovel potatoes into her mouth through his hair.

“Ey, George, you wanna sit down?”, someone called out over the sound of everyone laughing at Sapnap’s display of anguish. He saw the boy with the fluffy hair who was sitting next to Karl patting the empty space between them and looking quite uncomfortable, George remembering that he was probably still hungover and sensitive to noise, wincing in sympathy. He nodded his head at the boy, smiling at him in thanks before moving to sit down.

“We haven’t met, I think, if we did I may have forgotten. In any case, I’m Eret, this,” he pointed to the boy sitting next to Alyssa and across from George, ”is Callahan, that’s Karl and this is Alyssa”, he continued as he inclined his head towards each of them. “And you already know Sapnap.”

Callahan smiled and waved his hand slightly, the others paying him no attention, still making fun of Sapnap. George waved back at Callahan and nodded his head towards Eret. “Thank you, it’s nice to meet all of you.” Eret returned the gesture and turned back to his food without another word while Callahan put an extra plate filled with potatoes and bread in front of George before he seemed to focus back onto the conversation around them.

The sun that had seemed so oppressive before was now comfortably shining down on them as they ate. George half-heartedly listened to the conversation at his table but was more focused on his surroundings. A couple more tables were spread out across the grass, people running from one to the other, talking to their friends or getting food. He didn’t know any of them, though his eyes fell to a lone figure that seemed vaguely familiar. They were sitting in the grass under a nearby tree, its shadows falling over them. He was pretty sure he had never seen them before, but he felt like he had. Maybe he’d seen them in the street somewhere and remembered their face? George decided that that must be it.

Fields that had been planted with a variety of crops, some of which George had only seen in books, sprawled out all around the road that led to the main gate that bordered the massive stone walls of the town. He could see the top of the castle that loomed over the town and seemed to always be watching over it, having to shield his eyes as he looked up at it because the sun shone directly at him.

When he had first arrived, he’d been too tired to truly appreciate his surroundings, but now that he took his time to look at them, he couldn’t help but think that this was one of the most beautiful places he’d ever been to. Hadn’t the girl from the village who’d led him here said that the ocean was nearby? He’d never seen the ocean before, maybe he could ask someone to point him in its direction.

“Hey, do you have some room for us to sit down for a second? Great, I’m exhausted.”

George turned his head as he heard the vaguely familiar voice speak, recognizing the person as the scary woman that Sapnap had flirted with in Corpse’s tavern. His gaze immediately snapped to Sapnap, who looked like he definitely wasn’t drunk enough to forget her but probably wished that he had been, scooting closer to Alyssa and bending over slightly, as though that would protect him from her wrath. She approached them, followed by her blonde friend who had a basket that was covered by a blanket resting against her hip and looked vaguely worried. The woman smacked down a hand on Sapnap’s back, the latter flinching as she did so.

The woman let out a snort as she told him, “Relax, Sapling, I’m not gonna hurt you. Probably, I’m not certain yet. As long as I don’t get a repeat of yesterday, I’d say you’re good. Scoot over. I’m Minx, by the way, it’s very nice to meet you.” Sapnap nodded his head in what was probably supposed to be a professional fashion and did as she told him to. Alyssa was bent over her food as she laughed and George couldn’t help but snicker at him. It just seemed so ridiculous, George knew that Sapnap had no problem defending himself, yet he was still obviously terrified of her.

Though he certainly couldn’t blame him for that.

Minx’s friend looked lost as she stood by their table, Minx already having sat down and her being the only one left standing. She spoke with a hesitant, quiet voice that only barely carried over to George, “Would anyone like some fruit? Minx and I thought it would be nice to bring you guys something healthy to eat.” She side-eyed their potato and bread-covered plates with barely concealed, fond exasperation.

“Don’t flatter me Niki, it was your idea.”

Niki blushed and leaned past Minx and Sapnap to hand an apple to Alyssa who exclaimed that she suddenly felt the urge to become healthy. She winked at Niki who smiled at her softly before moving on to the other tables. Alyssa sighed theatrically as she watched Niki leave, head resting on her palm, looking like a lovestruck puppy. Minx leaned across Sapnap to shove Alyssa, screeching that, “She’s my wife, stop looking at her like that!”

“I didn’t see a ring on her finger.”  
  
“Why would you be looking at her fingers?!”

“To check if there’s a ring, obviously.”

“Well, there is one! Metaphorically, anyway.”

“I didn’t see a ring on her finger.” Alyssa smirked as Minx threw the bread she had stolen from Sapnap’s plate and had been snacking on to the floor as she yelled up an unintelligible storm.

George chuckled along with the others as they laughed at their antics, Sapnap staring at the bread she had sacrificed to her rage in mournful silence.

George watched as Niki approached the other tables, gracing them with sweet words and nutrients. He saw her hesitate before she walked towards the figure that had been sitting under the tree and was now laying sprawled out in the sun, eyes closed against its light, their long pink hair weaving through grass blades. It struck him right as Niki bent down over them, her lips forming words George couldn’t hear.

The girl from the village.

Aside from their hair whose colour wasn’t darkened by the tree’s shadows anymore being identical to the girl’s, their noses had the exact same downward slope, their cupid’s bows identical. The ears that were no longer covered by their pink hair had sharp tips and sagged slightly just like hers did, making them look somewhat like what George imagined an elf would look like.

He watched as the figure sat up, their back slouched, blinking their eyes open. Niki sat down next to them and handed them something from her basket. They said something to her, and she laughed as she replied, eyes turning into soft crescents. George looked away, not wanting them to catch him staring.

Why did they look the same? Were they related? The girl had talked about a brother, was this him? It wasn’t really his business, anyway, but he couldn’t help but be intrigued.

“Alright guys, back to the field in five!”

George winced from the noise as Sapnap yelled. Eret, who had finished his meal and had begun chewing on his nails, ripped his hand from his mouth to clap them both over his ears, glaring at Sapnap. George could hear groaning and loud complaints rippling throughout the tables and saw a couple of bread slices and potatoes being thrown in their direction, as though they were particularly bad street performers. Karl yelled at them to, “Stop wasting food, you morons!”, and George ate faster, because with all the distractions, his plate was still almost full.

\---

George was sat on the side of the field, his muscles still complaining from his earlier exercise, watching everyone else fight. Sapnap had probably taken pity on him when he told the brunette to watch everyone else and see how he could improve. George was thankful, because as much as he wanted to keep training, he knew that if he tried to fight now, he’d probably just keel over.

Alyssa was fighting someone a few metres away, which probably should have surprised him, but it didn’t. It _was_ quite unusual to see women in combat, but after being mercilessly beaten by Clay’s little sister whenever they would enter any kind of fight, a girl or woman being stronger than him felt normal, if a little embarrassing because it brought back the memory of a small child beating small but slightly older George to a pulp.

Alyssa wasn’t fighting in a way that seemed defensive, hacking away at her opponent with a noble looking battle axe, showing no mercy, face devoid of emotion, eyes focussed. She soon had him disarmed, blade to his throat, kneeling over him. A smug smile spread across her face as she lifted the axe, holding out a hand to help up the man who was glaring at her playfully, saying something about quitting after being beaten by someone who was half hungover.

He couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit discouraged as he saw all of them fight with the obvious skill that bled into their every movement, but he knew it was all the result of years of training, and if he tried hard enough, one day, he’d get there too.

He saw Eret under the tree where he had been sitting since morning with the exception of lunch, his head tipped back against the trunk as he watched everyone fight.

Sapnap was fighting Minx and having a pretty hard time from the looks of it, eventually throwing her to the ground, her spear falling to the floor with a thud, but evidently struggling as he took in heaving breaths, her grinning up at him as he held his sword to her throat.

His gaze shifted from the field to a spot of grass all the way across it where Niki and the pink haired figure were sitting, their back to her, her long fingers softly braiding their hair into a complicated looking hairstyle. He saw the pinkette chuckle as she said something, fishing the pieces of hair out from underneath each other and folding them over with what looked like practiced ease.

The sun was slowly beginning to set over them, bathing their pink hair in a cadmium red glow and George couldn’t help but relax at the sight. They looked so peaceful, a stark contrast to the fighting next to them, the clanging of blades next to silence, soft words and occasional laughter. It looked so wrong and yet so right.

He was torn from his thoughts as Minx trudged over to sit next to him, letting herself fall to the grass next to him, lying still as she breathed heavily.

“Man, Sapling is no joke, that man can fight. A shame he seems like he’d move on to a certain someone within the next five seconds, otherwise I’d tap that.”

A certain someone? It probably wasn’t his place to ask.

“I thought Niki was your wife?” And hadn’t she been close to beating him up yesterday? Oh well, he thought, people did show affection in different ways, right?

“Yeaaah, but she’s cheating on me with Technoblade right now, so I figured it would be okay.” She lifted her hand sluggishly without lifting her head, pointing in the direction Niki and the pinkette.

“Yes, that does make sense.”

They descended into comfortable silence as George watched Alyssa fight Callahan, Sapnap and Karl sitting side by side in the dirt a few metres away, cheering them on. She seemed a lot more relaxed this time around though, speaking to him as they fought, him never answering but just smiling at her serenely. Sapnap casually threw his arm over Karl’s shoulder, the latter’s face growing pained but quickly returning to a neutral, if cold expression, scooting away from Sapnap slightly, who turned to him with a look of confusion and hurt in his eyes. He rose from the dirt, patting his trousers before shouting across the field, “We’re done for today, dinner in ten!”

\---

“Does anyone know any scary stories?”  
  
“What are you, Sapling, five?”

“Hey! Scary stories are an essential part of a campfire!”

“Five, maybe six years old, I’m seeing pigtails.”

“HEY!”

George only halfway registered the conversation around him, the warmth of the soup they had eaten earlier heavy in his stomach, feeling dizzy and comfortable, like he was wrapped in a thick cotton blanket. The warmth of the fire was warming the front of his body, his back exposed to the cold night air, feeling like he was too warm and too cold at the same time, but it was somehow just right. Crickets were singing around them, night having fallen less than an hour ago. More and more fireflies started floating around them, tiny flickers of light appearing as the stars did.

They were sitting on numerous logs around a fire, Alyssa talking to Callahan, though it seemed like Callahan never said anything, he only nodded or shook his head, and when the two of them laughed, George could only hear her voice. Niki leaned over to her, whispering something into her ear that made her blush, Niki laughing in her and Callahan’s direction without malice and resting her head back onto Minx’s shoulder. She was carding her fingers through Techno’s pink hair that had been freed from the complicated hairdo she had placed it in. They were sitting with their back resting against her legs, eyes closed, head slightly tipped back into her lap.

Minx said something to Techno, and they opened their eyes to glance at her with a deadpan look, George feeling himself do a double take as he saw their eyes illuminated by the campfire. They looked bloodshot and the fire rendered the irises themselves a dark red.

They looked like what George had imagined a demon’s eyes would look like, they seemed out of place with his otherwise ordinary looking face and the soft hues of his pink hair that Minx reached over to ruffle, her hands batted away by Niki’s.

“Hey girls, you doing okay? Ready to leave?” There was a smile in the man’s voice and George was surprised to hear Corpse’s voice, but too soothed by the warm glow around him to be shocked.

“Yeah, thank you, Corpse. You wanna stay for a bit?”

“Sure, if nobody minds. But we’ll have to go back in a few, my sister is watching the tavern but I promised I’d be back soon.”

A man whose name he didn’t know turned to Corpse as he sat down, confusion etched onto the man’s face. “Why are you here, though?”

“Oh, Minx and Niki told me they’d be staying late and we agreed that I’d come get them.”

“Yeah, but why?”

Corpse’s voice suddenly turned serious. “They’re women. The kind of shit that happens to women when it’s dark is bad.”

A tense silence stretched itself over the company around the fire, the man who had spoken earlier breaking through it when he said, “I understand that, but Minx is strong. She damn near threw Sapnap onto his back when they were fighting.”

“Hey!”

“You know it’s true, Sapnap. They don’t need anyone to protect them.”  
  
Corpse smiled. “Yes, of course, I know that Minx and Niki can protect themselves, but that doesn’t mean that they should have to. Whenever women are strong, it scares men, so while they could probably get out of a bad situation fairly unharmed, the consequences wouldn’t be fair to them. The law doesn’t treat women fairly.”

“Yeah, I agree with Corpse,” Alyssa spoke up, “I can protect myself too, but I rely on my friends to not get in trouble for it. Of course I appreciate them,” she paused for a short moment when Callahan put his arm around her shoulders to smile at him, “but it’s still very frustrating sometimes that even though I could protect myself too, I’m not allowed to because of what’s in my pants.”

Minx snorted at her words and the man seemed to ponder their words, before replying, “Thank you for clarifying.” Turning to Alyssa, Minx and Niki he said, “I’m sorry you have to go through that, I’ve never thought about that aspect of it.”

“That’s alright, man, at least you weren’t a dick about it, even if you _were_ probably thinking with your dick a little, but it happens to the best of us. We should probably be going now, though. Come on, Niki.”

The man spluttered in offense as Minx paid him no further attention and moved to hug Alyssa and, to George’s mild surprise, Sapnap goodbye. Niki apologetically patted Techno’s head one last time before standing up and pulling out her shins from behind their back. The pinkette let out a sad noise before scooting back to lean against the log she had been sitting on. She whispered something to him and he smiled back at her, red eyes suddenly not looking so threatening anymore.

Minx shouted over her shoulder as they left, “LOVE YOU, TECHNO! I’LL SEE YOU SOON!”

“OKAY, THANK YOU! PLEASE LEAVE IMMEDIATELY!”

Karl was doubled over laughing at Techno, Sapnap side-eyeing the pinkette but a few chuckles escaped him nonetheless.

“I love you too, Techno, you’re the greatest.”

“Alright, I’m not sure if I’m likin’ this situation.”

George was startled once again by their similarity to the pink-haired girl while Karl continued laughing hysterically at Techno, their accents were an exact match.

He sighed. It was none of his business. But he could make it his business.

“Hey Techno, I recently met someone who reminded me of you.”

“What.” Techno stared him down with his blood red eyes, and he regretted his words immediately, but rambling on seemed like the only viable option, so he continued.

“Well she had the same hair as you do, and you have the same accent.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Their face looked carefully neutral, almost too careful, if he were to read something into their expression. George nodded at them. His first guess had been the better one; not his business.

“Oooh wow, George, your balls must be huge, that was terrifying! I think I peed my pants a little there. On that note, who wants to hear the story of Dream, the assassin feared across all the lands?”

“Be quiet, Sapnap.”  
  
“Ouch, Eret. But no, really, it’s a story that’s been going around lately, I have half a mind to believe it’s true. He’s this shadow that hunts you down, and after he’s done, he’ll leave you where nobody will ever find you. Oh and apparently, if you want to call him, you have to jump into a lake in only your underwear before dawn and chant a poem that goes ‘Oh say can you hear by the dawn’s early light’, I forgot the rest but it’s got a few more lines, and then he will jump out of the lake and kill someone for you or something.”

A few beats of silence. “Has someone ever told you that you’re the absolute worst at telling ghost stories?”

“OUCH, Alyssa.”

The night stretched on as everything around them grew quieter except for the songs of the crickets. Someone had brought out booze and pretty much everyone had gotten comfortably drunk, the strings of a guitar being plucked as a few people sang an out of tune drinking song. Something about a world turned upside down.

“Hey, Gogy,” he startled as someone shook his shoulder, “it’s pretty late, we should probably get going. I’m pretty sure you fell asleep, sorry for waking you.”

He smiled up at who he recognized to be Sapnap. “No problem, thanks for waking me, Sappy.”

They walked side by side in silence through the dark, waving goodbye to the few people who were still sitting by the campfire. The pathway under their feet crackled and the street lights had already gone out, leaving only soldiers to watch over the empty streets, some occasionally stopping them and asking what their business was. George was suddenly glad that Minx and Niki had had Corpse to bring them home.

“Hey Gogy, I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“You’re not allowed to make fun of me.”  
  
“What _is_ it, Sap?”

“Would you like to come with us?”

George suddenly felt like his heart was beating out of his chest. Was Sapnap asking him if… “You mean, if i want to join you?”  
  
“Yeah.”

“I’d love to Sap, but you saw me fight. I’m below average at best, bad at worst. Why would you want me to come with you?”

Sapnap smiled at him, the soft expression almost looking like a grimace in the darkness of the night. “Because you have potential, and I’d love to help you use it.”  
  
George looked at him with confusion boiling in his chest. “I know I’m no special talent, what are you talking about?” He thought back to Clay, to the smooth movements he’d learned himself when he was only a child, and he had done it without the instructions George had gotten. There was no way he had the ‘potential’ Sapnap was talking about.

Sapnap let out a short laugh that seemed more lighthearted than malicious. “Listen, if you don't train, you're never going to get anywhere. And not to stroke your ego or anything, but you have the motivation to be good, you want to learn. And sure, there's a certain amount of talent involved, that goes with pretty much everything, but if the most talented fighter doesn’t bother to train his abilities, he’s never going to be any good. A lot of people have a habit of telling artists that they are very ‘talented’, and not all of them are bothered by it, but telling someone that they are talented instead of actually good at what they do does a fine job of invalidating the countless hours they took in practicing their skill, the motivation it took, the hard work behind a single pretty picture. With combat it’s a little different of course, but at its core it's the exact same thing. As long as you're willing to practice, and I can tell you are, you have potential.”

George felt something warm bloom in his chest at Sapnap’s words. He remembered Clay’s talent, but at his friend’s words he remembered the unending dedication that had fueled everything Clay had done. Once he set his mind to something, he wouldn’t let go.

George remembered the countless nights Clay had spent pouring over books about fighting and wars waged many ages past in the candlelight, sometimes softly humming and ranting to George about its contents, something sitting in silence and snapping at George if he talked to him, immediately apologizing right after and explaining that he was frustrated because there was something he just couldn’t understand. After a while, George learned to read how Clay was feeling, learned to know how to support Clay as best as he could, learned that his best friend needed someone to support him, someone to tell him that he was doing good, someone to encourage him in the single-mindedness that terrified and awed George in equal measure.

Clay had talent, but without his dedication to guide him, his talent would’ve been useless. He was able to leave their village because he’d worked for it, because he’d never given up.

He felt something prick at his eyes, his sight blurring as he looked back to his friend, grasping his hand in his own as they continued walking. Sapnap grinned back at him and swung their hands between them.

“You good, Gogy?”

“Yeah, you just reminded me of my best- someone that I used to know. But,” George let out a laugh as something wet dripped down his cheek and felt a weight he didn’t know he’d been carrying fall off his shoulders, “yes, I’d love to join you, Sappy.”


	7. of a warm coat during a harsh night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG i'm so sorry that it took weeks to resolve the cliffhanger, have this 8.6k baby as a treat ;)

Was he playing games with him again?

George’s eyes were firmly trained on the note that he hadn’t picked back up yet, he almost feared it would fall apart if he did, crumble into a pile of dust. All he was able to do was peek, try to steal secretive glances as if any moment, Dream would appear in his tent and laugh at him.

Why did he feel so horrible?

Shouldn’t he be overjoyed, absolutely over the moon? For years upon years, George had wished for nothing more than to see Clay again.

He’d ached to receive another letter from his best friend.

George had dreamt, he’d imagined. He’d set out to look for him, to try to find him, God, the younger had never once left his mind. He had spent days asking around, going places in the hopes that maybe, he’d spot his best friend in one of them. Every tall guy with blonde hair made George turn his head, only to be inevitably disappointed when they were not the man he was looking for. Every laugh that resembled a wheeze more than anything else was louder in George’s ears than any other sound around him. It was almost sad, how absolutely pathetic he’d felt whenever he had to remind himself that Clay was most likely far, far away.

It hurt even more to remind himself that the other probably didn’t care about him anymore, either.

After all, he’d never received another letter again. George’s parents and friends back home never mentioned seeing Clay around.

He’d vanished. George had wondered if the man was even alive.

But of course, when George had actually made an attempt to move on, when he’d found something that made his heart burn with passion, Clay had appeared in his life again.

As if he’d sensed that George was finally ready to try and let him go.

He’d always been turbulent. The way he held himself, the way he spoke and wrote, Clay was the embodiment of graceful chaos. George never quite understood how someone could be so calm but so lively at the same time.

His personality reflected in his writing, too.

Clay had hurried to write, there were millions of thoughts in his head and he wanted all of them to appear on paper as quickly as possible, which, of course, showed in the final result. One might have said he wrote like he was running out of time. No matter how long his letters were, sometimes George was left breathless after reading them, his head spinning with so much new information, so many new sensations. And yet, Clay would also write like a gentle breeze on summer’s day. Calm and collected, elegant. Those moments weren’t as frequent as the others, but George still recalled how they made him feel hot all over. It was truly an odd combination, but the brunette had adored it, nonetheless. He had adored the emotions his friend never failed to put into every single letter, it was practically buzzing with authenticity and care. George always thought letters to be quite formal and cold; but never Clay’s, they were just as vibrant as their author.

But this? George could only stare at the short note with sad eyes.

Two sentences, 22 words, 79 letters.

Gone were the enthusiastic descriptions and passionate stories. Gone were pages upon pages of things Clay had seen and desperately wanted George to experience, too.

Although he’d signed with ‘C’, George knew, deep down, that Clay hadn’t written this.

Dream had.

It was odd; the way he’d differentiate between them both. George was aware of the fact that Clay and Dream were technically the same person, but in his mind, Clay was his best friend, and Dream was a stranger.

If he went even further, one could have argued Dream was his enemy.

George didn’t like it. When he thought of Clay, his mind was flooded with positive, delightful memories; of them growing up together, discovering the world, crying and laughing, screaming and staying silent, playing and bickering, apologizing and making up. Clay was the person George trusted the most, Clay was his best friend.

Clay was the person that made his heart race.

But Dream? He was cold, distant and scary. He was untouchable and unpredictable.

George had always asked himself why the only letter of Clay to ever hurt him was his last one. Even when he overlooked its contents, the way it had been written sounded somewhat formal. It didn’t exactly sound like Clay.

The encounter with Dream made him realize that the last letter he’d received hadn’t been written by Clay. That letter, the only one he’d saved from the flames, spared, had been his first introduction to Dream, or so he believed.

That thought alone was painful, because George was filled with so much regret. He knew why he did it, back then. He couldn’t have kept going like he had, waiting on his porch like a wife awaiting her husband’s return from war, hair greying as the days passed by, the only thing keeping her sane being the hope that he’d make it home, despite it all. He had stopped living his life to the fullest because his past had been holding him back. He’d burned the letters so there’d be nothing keeping him tied to his village anymore, he had burned the letters so he could finally escape.

But looking back, George wished he’d kept at least one letter of Clay’s. He wished Dream’s first letter hadn’t been the only one to survive the flames.

In a way, it all made sense to him; of course, those two would be different.

Clay now only existed in his memory, and Dream was the one he’d seen before his very eyes, living and breathing.

Clay’s smile was brighter than all the stars in the night sky, Dream had never even shown his face.

George trusted Clay.

He didn’t trust Dream.

George knew it wasn’t impossible for a person to change drastically over the course of a mere few years. He’d seen it happen with old locals, he’d seen it happen with people that had left to travel the world and come back. What scared George the most was that usually, from what he’d witnessed, people mainly changed when they experienced significant loss. Be it having a loved one pass away, someone taking something precious from them that they’d never be able to attain back, leaving a place they once considered home, but also, war.

War was probably the embodiment of loss.

What had Dream seen that turned him into who he was now? What had Clay experienced that made his soft heart turn into something so cold and hard?

Despite his lack of trust for Dream, George still couldn’t help but worry. He knew the tales, he’d talked to the guy, Dream was absolutely _ruthless_. But he’d let George escape. He’d even helped George find a way out. And as much as George believed he’d probably misheard; Dream had said his nickname with just as much fondness as Clay had.

Sapnap always saw situations in black and white. For him, there were only ever two extremes, the good and the bad, the loyal and the disloyal.

And while the other was George’s mentor of sorts, and he looked up to him a lot, the brunette understood that the general’s approach wasn’t the one he’d be able to take.

Surrounded by people with strong opinions and beliefs, George always wondered if his way of thinking was flawed.

But the more time went on, the longer he kept staring at the note, it became clear to him that there must have been something else, something more.

In Sapnap’s belief, Dream would be the evil, Clay would be the good. George wanted to believe this wholeheartedly, he desired to, because that would make everything a lot easier.

But Clay had chosen to leave his hurting loved ones behind willingly, and Dream had let George escape.

Both weren’t perfect; both weren’t pure good or evil.

George didn’t understand why Dream had done it. It would have been so easy to let him go and then never have to deal with him again. Dream had all the power in the world to disappear from George’s life like Clay had.

And yet, here he was. Only mere hours after they’d met. He’d gone out, waltzed right into the enemy’s territory, searched for George’s tent and left a note on his nightstand without waking him up, without slicing his throat so George could never tell anyone about his miraculous escape.

That was probably what assured George that Dream must have had some other intentions besides finishing him off. It would be downright foolish of the man to wait this long, not to mention leave a note that technically meant George had the choice to not go, just to kill him after he’d realized he shouldn’t have let George flee.

It hurt how easily his heart asked George if all Dream wanted to do was talk. Maybe explain, perhaps apologize.

George would have given so much just to find out what Dream was thinking. What did he want from George? Hadn’t he left, hadn’t he threatened to kill him?

_If they think you mean something to me._

Hadn’t Clay already established that George meant nothing to him?

George hadn’t felt this mentally tired in years. The answers to the ceaseless questions he kept asking himself lay behind Dream’s vacuous mask, and George didn’t know what he had to do to obtain them.

He would have gone, either way. Even if he didn’t have the burning desire to ask Dream everything he’d been wanting to ask ever since Clay had left, he’d have gone.

It was Dream, after all. Maybe the man wasn’t his best friend anymore, but he had been, once. Despite how different the two were, Dream was still inside of the body that held all the precious memories from their shared childhood. Dream was still the only one that could show George if Clay was truly lost.

With a slightly trembling hand, George picked up the note and quickly hid it under his pillow. He had to make sure no one would see it, because he felt like people might already be growing suspicious of him.

George knew that Sapnap would do anything to protect his honour, because he believed in George’s devoted loyalty. But the brunette loathed the idea of hundreds of eyes on him with suspicion glistening in their hardened stares.

He had to be especially careful now, because the borders were more observed than ever, they had more guards on patrol at night, anyone even remotely acting off would be immediately interrogated by Sapnap himself.

Dream had chosen the worst possible time to reappear; right when there was a traitor on the loose.

But George needed to know. He needed to see Dream, even if he couldn’t explain why he was so dangerously drawn to the man.

George knew Clay like the back of his hand, but he had no idea who Dream was.

Standing up and leaving the tent, George decided that it was time to really _meet_ Dream.

Who knew what truly lay behind that mask of his?

___

“George?”

The brunette’s head shot up from his soup and he stared into Karl’s eyes.

“Huh?”

The man tilted his head a little and looked at George with a questioning gaze. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’m positive Sapnap would let you rest a little more if you asked him.”

George shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’m good. I think my head’s just somewhere else.”

Karl hummed. “Don’t overdo it; it’s admirable how you’re already back on your feet after feeling so unwell.”

George’s face twisted with discomfort for a few seconds. Sapnap hadn’t lied for him, per se, all he’d said was technically the truth. The soldiers who’d asked questions were told that George hadn’t been feeling well, so Sapnap had decided to let him rest for a day or two so he’d be back in the game as soon as possible, since he was a vital part of the team.

“It wasn’t that bad.”, George tried and Karl decided to drop it.

They continued eating. The tables around them were filled with people, George could make out hundreds of different voices. Their conversations were shrill in George’s ears, and his head was still hurting from the injury he’d suffered when he’d hit the ground a bit too forcefully. He wasn’t particularly hungry, either, he was feeling nauseous and it didn’t help that he’d thrown up only a few minutes before he’d headed out to lunch.

George wasn’t having a splendid day, to say the least.

In the back of his mind, he kept replaying the memories with Dream. The more time went on, the fuzzier they started to get, and he started to wonder if he’d actually fever-dreamt the entire ordeal. If not for the note, George might have actually convinced himself.

But Dream was very much real. And he wanted to see George again.

For what? The man had no idea, but that was why he’d go to see him.

George kept wondering what Sapnap would think, if he knew. The general had never voiced a distaste for any particular enemy, he always put them in the same box, but the few times when the brunette had heard him mention Dream, he’d not necessarily spoken kindly of him.

But that was understandable; not only was Dream an enemy, he was also a mercenary.

Someone who would pick sides based on how much they’d get paid.

In Sapnap’s book, that seemed akin to blasphemy.

If the general was to find out that the friend George had been talking about was a dishonourable enemy, the brunette believed he’d not see the next sunrise.

“But how have you been? I haven’t really seen you around that much.”, George asked when Karl was done with his food.

They may not have been that close, but George still valued the other’s company. Karl was the soldier that was arguably the closest to Sapnap, he’d been by his side since pretty much the beginning. They’d trained together, they’d witnessed each other’s growth. If there was one person at the base that could read Sapnap like an open book, it was Karl. The general trusted his friend with his life. Karl had often helped George out whenever Sapnap had turned a little too harsh, the soldier’s technique was relatively simple yet effective, a couple of the tricks that George now used frequently were obtained during some of his extra lessons with Karl. Many of their fellow soldiers seemed to underestimate him at times, but George knew about the power and dedication the other held within himself, and it often reminded the brunette of himself. He’d seen the sheer passion Karl showed whenever it was necessary. George had noticed multiple times how protective Karl was, which always fuelled his determination to a max, only to be rivalled by Sapnap’s. George didn’t know a lot about Karl, but he felt like he could trust him.

His fellow soldier looked up. “Oh, me? I’ve been well, I guess.”

Before George could reply, there was a sharp noise. Their heads shot up and they warily eyed the table where the sound had come from.

George’s eyes widened as he saw Sapnap standing in front of one of the archers, gaze stern, but the brunette could make out the intense anger boiling beneath the surface. The man he was staring at had harshly put down his jug filled with water, the general had probably said something to him that had angered the man. George watched as the two seemed to practically fight with their gazes only, before Sapnap’s voice echoed across the field like thunder.

“You come with me. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

The man stood up, George could see that he tried to seem confident, but the slight shaking of his knees gave away his undeniable fear.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Sapnap was out to get whoever had ratted out their plans, and he was willing to interrogate anyone he deemed suspicious.

George wondered what the poor man had done. Was he truly the traitor, or had he been at the wrong place, at the wrong time?

The men and women at the table all wore a different emotion on their faces. A fellow archer seemed furious, the woman who George recognized as the suspect’s sister seemed terrified. Alyssa seemed very conflicted yet scandalized, and Eret was staring off into the distance while biting his nails.

No one even dared to speak a single word for a couple of minutes.

George averted his eyes, staring at his plate. As much as he trusted Sapnap, the man could be incredibly frightening at times.

“I hope he finds the traitor soon enough; I can’t stomach another one of these.”, George whispered to Karl carefully.

“I hope so, too.”, Karl replied quietly after a brief pause, expression unreadable, staring at the direction where Sapnap had disappeared with the suspected traitor.

It only took a few more moments before they all resumed with their conversations. It was like nothing had happened at all; except the thick tension that loomed over everybody’s head.

An irrational part of George’s mind was questioning if maybe, he was the traitor. He’d never ratted any plans out, he’d been loyal to Sapnap and the SMP from the moment he’d joined, but in the end, he _had_ associated himself with an enemy of their country.

Shaking off his worries, George stood up after saying his goodbyes to Karl.

There was no space for more complicated feelings in his heart, George was starting to wonder why the more minutes passed, the more questions would flood his head until the point where’d start to forget the truths.

He had a few more hours to kill before the sun would set.

Before he’d go out to see Dream.

He retreated into his tent and closed it off, nearly falling on his bed as he groaned loudly.

Why could George never catch a break?

He had one sole purpose when he joined the SMP; fight for the side he believed was in the right.

He was pretty much Sapnap’s right hand, he had duties to fulfil, he had countless people to disappoint and betray if he decided to stray away from his tasks.

But he also had to know.

In a way, Dream and Clay had one thing in common; they both came into George’s life like a storm, ever turbulent and chaotic, and if Dream was anything like Clay at all, he’d probably leave just as suddenly as George’s best friend had.

At this point, however, George was willing to be proven wrong.

If, like his mind tried to tell him, the two personas were so different, if Dream was really the polar opposite of Clay, wouldn’t that mean he’d stay?

Sighing, George covered his eyes with his arm and closed them.

He was drawn to Dream. He was drawn to him like he’d been drawn to Clay. Seemingly, no matter where they met, no matter who they were, George’s heart would always reach out to anyone who as much as held a miniscule fragment of the blonde.

Would it have been easier to live without ever having encountered Dream, or was this going to be the way George would learn to move on fully and wholeheartedly?

Only time could tell, and George didn’t know how much he had on his hands.

Traitorous, his heart was ever so traitorous.

Because despite everything, despite his initial hatred for the note, he still held it with gentle fingers. He still made sure it would not get wrinkly. He still hid it in his favourite book after looking at it one last time, placed between the pages of his favourite chapter that sang about love and happy endings.

George was still hopelessly relieved that Dream wanted to see him again.

___

It was so dark he could barely see his own hand in front of his eyes.

The night was ridiculously chilly and George felt himself shiver under his garments. His body was covered in goosebumps as he tried to take careful, soundless steps away from his base.

The lights in the tents around him were off, there was not a single sound heard besides the rustling of leaves.

George desperately hoped for his eyes to adjust further to the darkness so he’d not have to worry too much about tripping and falling. The moon was covered by thick clouds which made the night all the darker, allowing for the silence around George to come off as even more unnerving.

George was aware that Dream had told him to be by the weeping willow as soon as the sun fully set, but there was no way the brunette could have sneaked out without being seen if there had been even a single ray of sunlight above the treetops.

It had been a few hours after night had befallen the lands, and George wondered if Dream was even willing to wait for him.

Step by step, he made his way further into the woods. George knew which tree Dream meant, because it was the only one of its kind around.

It was an almost symbolic area; if George focused hard enough, he could hear the quiet flow of the majestic river separating the SMP from L’Manburg. It wasn’t far away, probably mere minutes, but George didn’t even dare go and explore, since he knew that there were a couple of guards camping to protect the border, from either side.

Dream had chosen an area that was incredibly close to L’Manburg, George’s enemy. The brunette was reminded once again that Dream was playing for the other team, and he tried to push down his doubts about allowing the mercenary to lure him so close to a territory where the only person being attacked would be George.

His teeth clattered slightly as he kept walking, cursing himself for underestimating the cold of the night. It may have been early summer, but the nights could still get incredibly freezing.

George let out a breath of relief when he spotted the clearing, the weeping willow growing in the middle of it like a mighty, wooden throne. The sky had cleared slightly, so the moon was somewhat visible again, providing the dim light the brunette had longed for.

Cautiously, George hid half of his body behind a tree and tried to spy whether he saw another human being around the area, but to his dismay, he saw nobody.

So maybe Dream had actually gone? It didn’t seem like the man had much patience, but George had assumed that he might have waited regardless, since he’d been the one to seek the brunette out.

“What are you doing?”

George jumped and whipped around, staring at the owner of the voice like he was about to be hit over the head.

There he was, in all his glory; the same large, green coat. The same rough axe. The same eerie mask.

George gulped audibly, staring at Dream’s ‘face’, while he tried to calm his heart that was threatening to break through the skin of his chest.

“You’re late.”, Dream began again, not moving away from George any bit.

Come to think of it, George realized that the man was oddly close to him. Was George starting to get old and his hearing was deteriorating, or was Dream just that good at sneaking up on people?

Nonetheless, their proximity made him flush slightly, because they could have barely fit a bar stool between their bodies.

He tried to act tougher than he felt. “So? I can’t just sneak out whenever you want me to.”

Dream huffed. “I left you a note well in advance.”

George raised his eyebrow, sensing his body finally calm down slightly due to the sudden easiness of their conversation. He probably should have been more alarmed about why Dream’s presence now seemed less intimidating.

“And I’m not about to be hanged because they catch me leaving the base.”

Dream sighed. “You managed to, before.”

George snorted, taking a step back so he could see Dream a little better. “That was in the middle of the night, idiot.”

Dream looked at him for an odd amount of time, and George wondered what expression the other was wearing underneath that damned mask.

Dream decided to simply hum, stepping forward and walking past George, nearly brushing his shoulder with the brunette’s.

“Come with me.”

George obliged, following the man’s steps, his gaze frantically looking left and right in case there were people.

“Stop fussing; if there was anyone around, I’d have already taken care of it.”

George nodded, more to himself than anything, and stopped in his tracks abruptly when Dream did, too, and they both stood before the tree. Dream turned around and gestured towards one of the roots that were sticking out from underneath the ground, which George took as an invitation to sit down. Dream followed suit as he seated himself on the root to the brunette’s left, and they settled into comfortable silence.

Why was Dream’s presence so easy? George had genuinely expected to be on high alert like he’d been the first time he’d met the man, but he assumed it was because he now knew that Dream was aware of who he was.

Which, in and of itself, definitely didn’t mean anything. After all, George had no idea where they stood.

He had so many questions, all of which he wanted to ask Clay. He wanted to know everything from the moment the younger had decided to leave, up until he’d received the note asking for George’s presence from Dream.

And yet, the air around them felt almost charged, like lightning that would glisten among the sky. It was noticeable, but not unpleasant, because there was no thunder accompanying it.

George searched for countless questions he could ask Dream. He tried to decide which one would be the least intrusive, the least personal. And whilst the topic of their shared past was something George would have much rather poked with a stick from a safe distance, he still wondered if there was any way to bring it up without potentially offending Dream, or scaring him away. George didn’t know their boundaries, he didn’t know where they stood, so all he could do was try to opt for the safest possible conversation starter.

“Your hair’s gotten longer.”, George spoke up and his voice broke slightly toward the end.

He would have expected any reaction.

Anything, but _that_.

Dream hesitated for a second, before he _cackled._

George stared at the mercenary in mortification as Dream kept cackling until it turned into something more resembling pained wheezes.

Patiently, George waited for the man to laugh to his heart’s content, trying desperately not to let it show that he was getting increasingly flustered.

What in the world? What gave Dream the right to just casually laugh in his face after he’d gathered the courage to be the bigger person and speak first?

“Yeah.”, Dream snickered and George swallowed down the urge to groan.

“Are you done?”

Dream let out another laugh that he cut off before it could escalate as he rotated his body so that he’d be resting his back against the tree trunk. Staring up at the branches, the mercenary seemed to calm his breathing. All George could do was stare.

Taking a shaky breath, Dream turned his head towards George. “I think I’m done.”

“That’s,” George cursed his stutter. “That’s great.”

They stopped talking after that, and the frown on George’s face only kept deepening.

So, this wasn’t what he’d been expecting _at all._

He’d assumed that maybe, Dream would want to give him a stern warning, or maybe threaten him, or not talk at all. Another idea George had entertained was that maybe, the man would not even show up, just as a means to taunt him.

The way he acted almost seemed to resemble…Clay.

“Are you cold?”, Dream asked after a while and George looked down on himself.

He wanted to argue that he wasn’t, but it was pretty clear since at this point, even his hands were trembling. He could have said it was due to nervousness, which was definitely part of it, but George would rather die than admit the effect the other had on him to his face.

Instead, he decided not to answer, and just hug himself with his arms. There was no way George would let himself be made fun of for his poor life decisions.

He could hear Dream click his tongue before the other stood up abruptly, making his way over to him.

George felt his body freeze and he backed away, cowering in on himself slightly due to pure instinct.

“You’re the idiot here.”, Dream stated and before George could look up, he felt something wrap around his shoulders.

Eyes laced with confusion, he looked down on himself and realized that he was wearing a coat.

_Dream’s coat._

It was very warm, to say the least; George unconsciously leaned into the warmth of the soft fabric, silently revelling at the comfort he felt wash over his body.

Dream didn’t say another word, and George was too scared to say something stupid again so he just decided to keep his mouth shut.

They sat there, a few metres apart, and George wondered if Dream wasn’t cold now, himself. But the man seemed just fine; he was wearing very casual clothes underneath, and George made sure to pointedly ignore the deep cut of Dream’s dark green blouse exposing his chest.

The latter made no move to start a conversation, so George assumed it was down to him to do all the asking.

Oh, how he wanted to ask Dream everything. More precisely, everything about Clay. But sitting there, with the man’s coat around his shoulders warming him in the harsh temperatures of the night, George couldn’t bring himself to. He wished he could just write him a letter with everything he wanted to say, just so he’d not have to feel his body react to Dream the way it did.

“Why L’Manburg?”, was what George asked, instead, looking over to inspect the other’s body language.

He heard the blonde sigh quietly, almost hesitating, before clearing his throat. “They pay well.”

George looked away, staring at the trees ahead of him. “That’s it?”

The brunette could hear him shift. “Well, I am a mercenary. Wilbur was willing to give me a lot of gold for my assistance in the war.”

“I see.”, George muttered.

So, that was it, huh? Dream didn’t fight for beliefs, he fought for the side that paid the most. It was another one of those things that set him apart from Clay; the man George once knew was firm in his beliefs and he desired to fight for what he felt was right, which was why he joined the war in the first place. What had happened for him to choose to be a mercenary, instead? Hadn’t Clay implied he was going to be a soldier?

The more George thought about it, the more confusing it got; in the last letter he’d ever received from the man, Clay had said that he would be joining forces with people that had been plotting tactics for when the war was to break out. He had clearly been operating in a group, but now, he was a mercenary that fought in the war alone, without any real allies. George was sure he hadn’t misunderstood the letter; Clay would have told him if he’d been planning to fight in the war alone, but he didn’t. His letter had been filled with a very subtle and quiet, yet stern determination for a certain cause. He’d spoken about the upcoming war in a very strategic manner, with seemingly a lot of insider intel, so how did he end up as someone who was nothing but a weapon?

“George, I-“, Dream spoke up hesitantly and looked towards him.

The brunette didn’t dare turn his head. Hearing his name said with Dream’s calm but slightly rough voice made him overly aware of every part of his body, nearly drowning out any other sound around him in order to dedicate his full attention to whatever the blonde had to say.

But Dream didn’t elaborate. George saw that he was staring at him from the corner of his eye, but the blonde seemed to be conflicted, and George couldn’t have blamed him.

They were in a very unique position; there was a very apparent elephant in the room. Something was going unspoken between the two of them, and neither seemed daring enough to confront it head on.

All George could do was wonder; what was Dream going to say? His suspicions ranged from explanations to apologies to confessions. Maybe the man next to him wanted answers just as much as George did, after all, they’d been away from each other for years; as much as Clay had changed, George had, too.

Not only physically; of course, the brunette now stood taller than he had when they were teenagers. His body was stronger, his facial features sharper, and his posture much more confident and assured. He was a soldier; a warrior.

Even his hair had gotten somewhat darker, and George liked to keep it a bit shorter than he had when he was an adolescent. There was a subtle hint of a beard on his jaw, as well, his brilliantly brown eyes glistening with a lot more knowledge and maturity.

George had grown up, just like Clay had. They both looked and sounded different now, because they were. Both of them were different. While George still believed himself to be the same person he used to be, he also knew that a lot of his personality had changed, he’d seen too much not to gain a new perspective of life.

He’d travelled, he’d trained, he’d fought, he’d found a group of people that loved and cared about him. He no longer was alone; it should have been a lot easier to let Clay go than it actually was.

Because really, what was the man to him, truly? Someone he once considered his best friend, for sure. Someone he’d grown up with, someone he’d shared everything with. Yet it was pretty common for friends to drift apart, especially due to distance. George had grown up with his parents and grandparents sharing stories about friends they’d once had but hadn’t seen in many moons.

But Clay had never just been a friend. He’d been George’s best friend; he’d been his person. Perhaps, as much as George loved to ignore and deny it, Clay had been much more than those things. He’d been someone different, someone George didn’t know if there was a word for that could do it justice. Clay had been Clay, that was the only way George could adequately describe what the other had been to him. Was to him.

He had never bothered to name it, because he was scared of what the official acknowledgement would mean for him. How much harder it would cause his journey to healing and moving on to be.

George had realized very early on that the more he thought about it, the more it would hurt, and he was simply tired of feeling this way. Most people would have grown resentment for their friend after them leaving in the same fashion Clay had, most people would have probably moved on a lot quicker, too.

But not George, never George. It almost seemed like he’d forever given a piece of his heart to Clay, and he simply couldn’t live without it when all he wanted to do was seek it out.

Perhaps them parting in hate would have been easier; George had always wondered what would have happened if Clay had left after a fight.

It would have hurt much more, but George believed that in the long run, the wound in his heart would have slowly grown to be a scar.

Everything was better than parting without any sort of closure; no matter how much George wanted to let go, there were too many questions he had. He simply couldn’t leave them unanswered. The wound in his heart couldn’t heal, because he had no real means to treat it with.

But even now, even in the presence of the man he’d hoped to see ever since he’d last looked into his eyes, it was impossible to open his mouth.

Perhaps too many years had passed, perhaps the distance between them had grown to be unbreachable. George couldn’t ask the questions that were as much part of him as his battle scars to a stranger, when they were meant for his best friend’s ears, only.

There was awkwardness in his every move, but the sheer familiarity in the air sometimes suffocated George. It was an endless push and pull between love and loss.

No matter how he’d twist the narrative, George knew he cared about Dream. He wanted the other safe, he wanted the other around, he wanted the best for him. Even when his every sudden move would sometimes cause George to flinch out of instinct.

The brunette knew he’d eventually get used to Dream. He knew that the more they’d meet, the more comfortable he’d get, the more of himself he’d show to Dream.

But the one thing that George couldn’t imagine giving Dream the same way he’d given it to Clay was _trust._

No matter how he spun it, George couldn’t imagine trusting Dream like he’d trusted Clay. There was too much of the man next to him that he didn’t know, didn’t understand, he couldn’t possibly give the man a knife and turn his back to his face.

It was incredibly hard to even understand where to begin getting to know Dream. George didn’t even know if the man would be willing to show himself to him.

Dream was covered, head to toe; thick boots, dark pants, large coat with a hood, and a mask. The only part of him that George recognized with an aching heart was his messy blonde hair. If it hadn’t been for his unique fighting style during the battle, George was positive he’d walked right past the man if he had seen him anywhere else.

But now that he knew, now that he was aware, George couldn’t help but pick up on the small details that screamed the name of the boy he once used to dream about conquering the world with.

The way he held himself, the way he laughed, it was all too familiar. George didn’t know that familiarity could hurt more than estrangement.

George wished he’d be able to look into Clay’s expressive eyes.

“Why don’t you take your mask off?”, George asked, finally turning his face to look at Dream.

The moon had finally fully come forward between the dense curtains of dark grey clouds, and the white light illuminated Dream almost serenely; something about the way he was sitting made him look effortlessly breathtaking.

In George’s eyes, everything about Dream seemed ardent and alluring, and it was getting harder and harder to pry his eyes away. He had a quiet pull to him that made George question whether he was imagining things.

Dream seemed thoughtful, if his long silence spoke for itself. George focused on the distant sound of water to distract his racing heart as he waited for the other’s response.

“That’s none of your business, George.”

Short, sharp and final. George felt his breath hitch.

The brunette hardened his gaze and tried to swallow down the lump that had formed in his throat. Now, more than ever, it was clear how long the distance between them had gotten, how long Clay had actually been away.

He wanted to stay silent, he didn’t want to push Dream.

Clay had never been insecure about his appearance; he’d never voiced any concerns. Around town, he’d gained the reputation of being a heartthrob, with his nest of messy blonde hair, radiant green eyes and blindingly wide smile. He was handsome, he was smart and he was strong; the perfect example of a future leader.

They’d often talked about this; under wide branches of cherry trees during mild summer evenings, voices hushed and quiet giggles filling the silences in-between.

George had always thought Clay would one day grow up to be a leader; not only was he talented, but he was also incredibly well acquainted with everything he needed to know to get to the top.

He was known around town as the kid who loved books more than anything; day in and day out, he’d read about everything there was to know, and he’d end up telling George about everything he had learned. He read books about history, he read books about weaponry, he read books about fighting, books about healing. Clay knew much more than most children his age, it was startlingly easy for him to casually speak about topics such as philosophy and the art of war. He was incredibly well educated, all because he valued books above anything else.

The only thing he’d been lacking was experience, and the young boy had told George that one day, he’d head out into the world and soak up all the knowledge he could get.

He had big dreams, dreams that went beyond small, rural villages in the middle of nowhere.

Looking back, George shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was when Clay actually decided to follow up on his promise and leave like he’d desired to for countless years.

He’d always been hungry for knowledge, always searching for new things to learn. Clay had given George a lot of the dreams he still held onto to this day, he’d been the one to encourage George that one day, he should leave, too.

Maybe, somewhere along the line, George had assumed he’d leave with Clay by his side.

But of course, it had never come to that. Clay had left, and George had stayed. Eventually, however, he’d headed out, too. Years apart, countless worlds now lay between them. They had chosen to take different paths at the crossroads, and to this day, George hoped that one day, their paths would cross and they’d meet again, being faced with yet another choice but this time, being able to decide whether or not they should head to the same destination, no longer apart.

There were countless ‘what if’s, countless scenarios George entertained whenever he wondered if there was anything he could have done to prevent them from separating the way they had.

It had been so abrupt, merely remembering was enough to cause George to feel breathless. In one minute, his life had been the brightest star in the sky, and the next he’d been staring at nothing but darkness.

But it was normal, since sometimes, even long healed scars could hurt.

George’s voice was a bit quieter when he spoke next. “I already know what you look like.”

Dream remained silent. That was all the confirmation George needed.

He wondered if, when he’d be heading back to his base, Dream would follow him the same way he had when he’d been guiding George out of the woods. It was a comforting thought, because it meant George could feel the other’s presence for a bit longer.

He really wanted to let go. He wanted to stop seeking out the man’s warmth like a moth drawn to fire, but it was incredibly hard to when George knew that the more time he’d spend with Dream, the more he’d get comfortable around him.

The brunette was playing a dangerous game. He knew how much it hurt to lose Clay once, but here he was, getting attached to someone who was merely a shadow, a phantom, in most people’s eyes. He could vanish any moment, if he desired to, and George knew that once he did, he’d never see him again.

Them meeting was already an incredibly circumstantial coincidence, and George was sure that he’d never get this lucky again.

If Dream decided to leave now, he’d seal their fate. He’d disappear like Clay did, and George would be left with nothing but the memories of a blonde boy with endless determination and sweet laughter, mixed with memories of a masked man whose proximity would cause George to go up in flames.

George’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest at the image of never seeing Dream again.

The brunette wanted to reach out to the man beside him, he wanted to feel much more than the warmth of the other’s coat around his shoulders. He wanted Dream as close to him as possible, just so he’d be able to make sure that he’d not disappear with the next gust of wind.

He could have talked, he could have asked, but he chose not to. Dream did the same.

George may not have trusted Dream, but the mercenary didn’t trust him, either.

The night suddenly felt a little colder when Dream stood up. “You should head back.”

George looked down at his feet, taking a quiet but deep breath.

This was it then, wasn’t it?

George rose, sliding the coat off of his shoulders and tentatively holding it out to Dream. He couldn’t help the violent shiver that shook his body as the warmth he’d felt for a while was stripped away from him, but he was worried that Dream, even when he didn’t let it show, was freezing by now, himself. The mercenary seemed to look at it for a few seconds before subtly shaking his head.

“Keep it.”

George tilted his head a little in confusion. “But it’s your coat.”

Dream hummed. “And you’re cold.”

“Aren’t you?”

But Dream didn’t answer once again, and George decided that it was best not to annoy him. He slid the coat back on, trying not to let it show much the sudden gentle smell of Dream sent a wave of calm across his entire body.

George felt like he’d shatter whatever moment they were having by speaking up, so he just decided to send a short nod Dream’s way, before turning sideways and walking away.

He was starting to get tired again, and he had a long day of training ahead of him in a few hours, so he had to get all the rest he possibly could.

It only took him walking a few metres to realize that Dream hadn’t stayed in place.

He was trailing behind him.

George chose not to turn around. Instead, he proceeded to walk into the woods, heading straight back to his base.

He assumed Dream would eventually stray away from him, but after a few minutes he noticed that the man was still in pretty close proximity.

George stopped in his tracks and turned around, looking at Dream with questioning eyes. The mercenary, however, only kept walking until he came to a halt right next to George, looking ahead.

They stood there for a few seconds before George warily averted his gaze and kept walking, Dream joining him.

They walked, side by side, through the dense and dark forest like they had no care in the world.

George swallowed thickly as he noted that Dream had gotten even taller, their height difference much more prominent than ever before. His steps were also very confident, yet weightless, and George realized that that was probably why it had been so effortless for him to sneak up on the brunette. He was just as quiet as a cat on a hunt.

George focused his eyes on the ground, watching out for any obstacles, when he started to recognize a certain trial. They were very close to his base.

And Dream was still walking right next to him.

Surely, he’d not follow him into his base, right? Surely, Dream wouldn’t dare waltz right into the enemy’s territory where he could easily be overpowered, and for what?

Escorting George back to his tent?

But before George could think about it any further, they reached the base, the only thing separating them from the countless tents being a fence of tall trees.

They both came to a halt, close enough to the base to hear the distant snoring of one of the soldiers.

George looked over to Dream, only to realize the other’s eyes were already on him.

George would have given so much just to see the blonde’s actual eyes.

Dream seemed to search his face, or maybe stare into his eyes, George didn’t know, but suddenly, he took a step forward.

George’s entire body froze as he felt Dream’s arms come around his sides, pushing him into a pool of sensations that all screamed _Dream Dream Dream._

The brunette’s mind short circuited for a split second as he stood there, completely motionless, allowing for Dream to be so close their chest could have been touching.

George felt incredibly hot all over, having Dream so close to him in something that seemed to resemble a hug was doing bad things to his harshly beating heart and racing mind.

He felt Dream’s hands around his shoulders, and before he could as much as blink, the blonde carefully took the coat off and gently maneuvered it around his shoulders and threw it over his own.

George didn’t dare gaze up at Dream, all he could do was stare at the other’s neck as he tried not to let it show how affected he was by the other’s proximity.

Dream leaned down, lifting his mask slightly but shielding the view of his face from George’s sight, his head almost on his shoulder, and the brunette could feel the blonde’s hot breath on his neck when he whispered. “Sleep well.”

And then, the warmth was gone. The amount of time it took for George to regain his senses, Dream had fully disappeared behind the trees and into the night.

George stood there, breathing heavily, face burning and hands shaking.

All he could think about was how easy it had been to subconsciously lean into Dream’s fleeting touch.

___

The world could have very well ended.

Gone up in flames, burned down to its last tree, everyone and everything perishing in the hungry fire.

George didn’t even try to supress the tears when the realization hit him.

He should have been more careful; he should have been more alert. He should have hidden it, away from everyone, so there could have never been any harm done to it.

All he could do now was cower on the floor, holding a hand to his mouth so the sobs wouldn’t be heard by the inhabitants of the tents around him.

How had he been so careless? How had he let this happen?

Devastated, he was utterly defeated.

On the cold ground of his base, in his tent that now seemed to be much too big for him, with his friends asleep all around him, George couldn’t help but let his heart break.

He’d lost it.

He’d gone and he’d lost the one thing he’d sworn to protect.

The thing that he’d preserved for years, guarded like his most prized possession, which it was. He’d read it before going to bed sometimes, because it helped him sleep. He’d read it before going into battle, because he believed it would give him strength.

George took a shaky breath as he looked at the ceiling, closing his eyes and concentrating on the feeling of his warm tears running down his flushed cheeks.

It was gone.

He couldn’t find it anywhere.

_Please be safe._

_—_ _Clay_

George had lost the only letter he’d saved from the flames.

He had lost the last fragment of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boom, i hope ya enjoyed !! george is like, 90% angst and memories while dream's mind is just ~gogygogygogygogygogy~
> 
> have a splendid rest of the day, as always, take care and love yourself, you're important <3


	8. of the general's words and his fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is the acumirklis and BitterCr0wn fusion you've all been waiting for

_Observations of General Sapnap  
_ _Fourth of the Twelvemonth, Second Day_  
_The Day after the Battle of the Empty Fields_  
_Early Morning_

We were betrayed yesterday. Someone from our midst, most likely someone close to me, exposed our plan to the enemy and risked hundreds of lives. 

I finished writing letters to the families of the dead and the missing. That’s always been the hardest part of any battle. In the midst of it you don’t have time to count the dead, to think about their parents, their wives or their children.

I don’t know who to trust anymore. Everyone who knew about the details of my plan has been with me for years and has earned my confidence through many battles and long nights.

Karl keeps bugging me to go to sleep, but I can’t get past this sick feeling that’s keeping me up. Every time I close my eyes, I feel like someone will get hurt. Like once I let my guard down again, someone will kill us all in our sleep and be gone before dawn.

Alyssa is keeping watch outside my tent, and I know she’s loyal to me because she’s always been good to me and everyone around her, but I’m scared to trust her.

I’m furious, of course, and I can’t believe someone would betray me so shamelessly and abandon their duty, their honor, but deep down all I am is terrified, right down to my bones. Because all these years, I’ve wavered. I’ve doubted everything I’ve ever believed in, I’ve abandoned friends and regretted so many things, but I could always rely on my judgement.

I’ve always known that loyalty and honor matter above all else, because if you don’t belong to a purpose greater than yourself, you’re only fighting for yourself. The kingdom you belong to protects you, and you have a duty to protect it in return.

I’ve spent years choosing people to accompany me who I know are good and want to fight for the right thing, and along the way they became the best friends I ever had. I never once doubted their loyalty, because they’re good people, but now I know I should have.

It doesn’t feel real. We’ve felt the consequences of the betrayal, but until I know who dishonored us, it won’t feel like it really happened. A few more dead bodies in the mud for soldiers to flee across, a few more drops of blood soaking in fallen rain, history won’t ever remember them. God will lead the loyal through the gates of heaven and lure the disloyal off the clouds, into Satan’s kingdom, their broken bodies left behind, and they will be grieved for and then forgotten, and it’s painful, even though they will live on in their cause.

I know that this has shaken me, but I can’t let it stand. I have to know who did this, so I can punish them for breaking their promise to their country and to their fellow soldiers, and so I can learn from my mistake.

People are whispering. Some are coming to my tent and telling me of their suspicions, some come to tell of other people’s words. Some come to scream and grieve, one man’s fallen companion was his best friend.

They tell me Alyssa is a woman, and women “tend to talk”, which is blatantly just because she’s a woman. They say Eret was gone for a while during the battle, they say he looks nervous, that he walks like moving on eggshells, sneaks around listening to others talk, fear in his eyes. They say Callahan has been quieter than usual, not meeting people’s eyes.

An archer was let into my tent earlier, and told me his friend saw Karl near the woods the day before the battle.

But they don’t know them like I do.

Callahan has always been quiet, but when he is scared or nervous, he doesn’t listen. They don’t know what he’s been through, and he shouldn’t have to tell them to have their respect. They don’t know Karl like I do, they don’t know that he has had trouble sleeping since he was a boy, since he waited up past the bird’s first call for his dad to come home, and instead received a badge and a hastily written letter of empty apologies. They don’t know that his nights are restless and that taking walks calms him, that he hums and whispers to himself, that he is afraid and still braver than all of them combined. He is scared, but he still stays and he still fights.

I’m inclined to believe that whoever was trying to pin this on Karl could be guilty, because I know Karl wouldn’t harm a soul, that Karl is loyal to me, but at this point, I’m the only one who believes that. I want to believe that all of them are innocent, and maybe it’s just because I don’t want to admit that the one thing I could trust myself to do, I failed at.

I just took a short break to see how the night shifts are holding up and found George as he came back to camp from the woods. He collapsed on the spot and he’s resting right now. I know I can’t suspect George, because if I do, I’ll have to question our friendship as a whole, and he’s done me more favors and helped me more times than I can count. I’ll question him as soon as he wakes up.

I’ll probably start putting up patrols in the woods, too, because they cause too much suspicion, and I myself will be helping. I can’t stand sitting by giving orders.

I have to find whoever did this, and I can’t fail this time. I’ll need to address all of my soldiers, and I hope that the traitor will reveal themselves, or at least that baseless accusations will stop as much as possible. I’ll ask Karl and George to be there, because I might not be able to if they aren’t there.

_(The ink turns smudged, the writing hasty. As though a storm laid itself upon a page, dark blue thoughts vomited onto coarse paper with little care for history, for who would see the vulnerability in every one of his shaky pen strokes, would tear every word apart with ruthless scrutiny. Countless eyes are on him, watching the lonely man shaking with fatigue, burning up in the candlelight, the weight of death on his shoulders-)_

And if people are scared of me, so be it. If they are so terrified that they run, it’s their own cowardice that sent them on their way

I want them to remember they can’t cross me they can’t betray me, I’ll make them remember their oath

I’ll make them want to run, I’ll be their regret

_(A few drops of ink rest over the remainder of the page.)_

\---

Ominous silence hung over the crowd, even before he spoke.

Their gazes wandered over the field; expressions uncertain.

He’d called them here; they all knew what would be said.

And yet, everyone was rooted to their seats, not even the strongest gust of wind could sway them.

Eerie fear lay within their hearts, even before he stepped on the table.

“I called you here,” Sapnap’s loud voice echoed across the field filled with slightly shivering soldiers. “Because I’ve had enough.”

His heavy, dirty boots soiled the surface of the wide dark oak wood table as he walked around soundly, making eye contact with as many of his men and women as he could. “I gave you enough opportunities, I gave you enough chances to speak up, but you never did.”

“I know you’re here; I know you’re listening,” Sapnap stated more quietly, the tone of his voice laced with something so bitterly sweet it made everyone’s stomach turn with discomfort and silent disgust as he smirked challengingly. “Why don’t you look up, huh? What’s the worst that can happen?”

“You’ve already committed the worst crime there is, you’ve already damned yourself, what else is there that could possibly hurt you more than being a filthy, traitorous scumbag?”

There was fire in his eyes; the flames were murderous, heating everyone up from the inside, both innocent and guilty alike. Sapnap was angry; they’d never seen so much fury come off of him like waves of striking electricity. “Are you even aware of what you’ve done? Do you know how many you’ve killed because you chose to be a fucking coward?!”

“They had families! They had friends, dreams, plans and ambitions, and you doomed them the moment you whispered our confidential plans into the ears of the callous enemy!”

Sapnap looked down to his side, eyeing George and Karl who were seated at the table, hands clasped in their lap and eyes sternly trained ahead out of respect. “How can you look these men in the eyes when you know they had to help recover the bodies of countless preventable dead soldiers?”

He glanced up, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath of the fresh morning air, before snapping his head back down and spitting off of the side of the table, dangerously close to the archer he’d interrogated only a few days prior. “You disgust me. I gave you the privilege of being a soldier in this army, I gave you a roof over your head, food, work, a cause. And what did you do in return? Betray my trust and aid the devil?”

Sapnap barked out a laugh. A mocking, empty sound that caused everyone’s tongue to taste of poison. “Oh, you’re such a fool. I bet you feel so incredibly safe, I bet you believe yourself to be invincible.”

He smiled somewhat dementedly. “But can I tell you a secret, traitor? You’re not. You’re in the most vulnerable position you could ever be in.”

“People talk, they’ve been talking for months now. Every day, I receive hints, every day, I come closer to finding out who you are. It is only a matter of time until I run out of suspects, and you stand out like a sore thumb.”

Sapnap crossed his arms in front of his chest, tilting his head and staring at a soldier. “Last week it was you. They told me they saw you leave the premises at night; they saw you whisper with strangers in a tavern.”

He shifted his gaze onto someone else. “And you? I heard you keep countless letters stored in your tent, always either sending them out or keeping them hidden.”

His eyes met with the soldier’s sitting closest to the table he was standing on. “Many suspect you, simply because you’re one of the strongest female soldiers I have.”

“And what do all of you have in common?”, he asked, licking his lips.

“You’re visible. You’re surrounded by hundreds of loyal soldiers. Every single one of you is seen, every single one of you cannot hide, not for long. Especially not a traitor amongst men and women whose burning desire to persecute the odd one out matches mine.”

Sapnap lowered himself into a squatting position, arms resting on his thighs, making him appear on the same level as the people he was speaking to. “If you claim to be loyal, and turn out not to be, you deserve the harshest forms of punishment. I trust my soldiers, I rely on all of you for these battles to work out in our favour, but I am starting to have doubts.”

“Every one of you I pass, I wonder if it’s you. I ask myself if it’s you who’s the selfish bastard. And that? That is a very dangerous thing. How can we win this war, if I have to question every one of my soldiers’ motivations?”

Sapnap went silent for a few seconds, searching for the emotions in the soldiers whose heads were still turned towards him, were still facing him with dignity and bravery.

“I’ll see it in your eyes, if you lie to me. Think carefully before you do.”

He rose, making himself taller and pushing out his chest slightly, posture oozing with the confidence and charisma that made his soldiers cower.

“But I am a kind man. Even though you have caused destruction, even though you have caused more pain than I’m willing to begin to explain, I propose a compromise; you raise your hand, you admit to your faults, and in turn I’ll make sure they won’t hang you on the gallows.”

A wave of shaky breaths sounded across the tables, Sapnap could see people’s hands quivering.

“I will count down from ten,” he declared, raising his hands which resembled the gesture of admitting defeat. “You have time to take the deal until then.”

Sapnap inhaled.

“Ten.”

A soldier’s face hardened.

“Nine.”

Someone’s hands were shaking so hard they had to hide them in their pockets.

“Eight.”

A small sob from the back of the rows echoed across the deathly silent crowd.

“Seven.”

A man’s leg was bouncing uncontrollably, he could have jumped up and ran away.

“Six.”

A soldier’s nails dug into the flesh of his thighs so hard it left purple, bloody marks.

“Five.”

An archer was close to passing out.

“Four.”

They were sweating, all of them.

“Three.”

They remained motionless.

“Two.”

Someone’s hand itched to be raised.

“One.”

Sapnap’s eyes turned emotionless. He looked around one more time, face cold and unreadable.

He shook his head in disappointment, for a very long moment. No one dared to look up anymore, everyone’s gazes were sternly directed towards the floor, even Karl and George’s, even Eret and Alyssa’s.

“I understand.”, he said calmly, someone’s eyes watered due to the venom.

He drew his sword from its scabbard and in one effortless yet powerful motion, he pierced it into the wood of the table, removing his hand from the grip of the sword and staring straight ahead. “From this moment on, with every second that passes, the punishment will be harsher. The longer you wait, the more I’ll make sure to have you go through the worst pain before you can enter Hell. I’ll make sure I can see the life drain from your eyes; I’ll make sure to watch as the light leaves your soul. You deserve nothing more than the filth underneath my boots. I loathe your existence, so you shall loathe mine.”

Sapnap jumped off the table, the muffled sound of his boots hitting the ground resembled thunder. He stared at everyone, before he turned around and started walking away.

Shortly before he could disappear behind the countless tents ahead of him, he turned around slowly, throwing them one last glance over his shoulder.

They had never heard him yell louder. “I’ve had enough! You shall perish, perish before my very eyes! I’ll fucking find you, and if it’s the last thing I ever do!”

Ominous silence hung over the crowd, even after he spoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dttrbitw sapnap kinda hot ngl


	9. of messy tents and final decisions

His tent was a mess.

Papers were strewn across the floor, chests open and in disarray, priceless enchanted armor that George usually treasured and treated with great care flung to the side, discarded.

And he was sat right in the middle of it all, letting his eyes trace the same spots over and over again, looking for familiar paper that carried the marks of fire and had grown soft and discoloured with time.

He’d lost Clay’s letter. The letter he’d saved from the flames, the one he’d carried with him for years. But it wasn’t like he really needed it, George thought to himself bitterly as tear tracks dried on his cheeks, making them uncomfortably itchy. He knew every word it carried verbatim, had spent many sleepless nights reading it over and over again, knew its every crease and tear by heart.

But it was proof. It was proof that there was a connection between them, a fragile string of fate tying them together. That he wasn’t just lost out in the world alone, but that amongst the unknown, there was something achingly familiar.

His breathing had slowly calmed down from its panicked rhythm, turning to shaky, controlled breaths as he sat amid what looked like the aftermath of a storm, arms wound around his knees.

It didn’t matter, he tried to tell himself. It was just a piece of paper.

But he’d attached too much to something so small and fragile, and now he was feeling the consequences of it.

Clay’s - no,  _ Dream’s _ \- coat still rested on his shoulders, pooling around him in a mess of dark green fabric. He couldn’t bring himself to take it off, even though his own coat was enough to warm him. He knew he shouldn’t, but he clung to anything that resembled the Clay he used to know.

And sometime in the past few hours, the line George had drawn between Clay and Dream had begun to blur. Everything about Dream was so strange and cold, but then just when he was determined that Clay had gone and left a shadowy, flighty figure in his wake, he’d hear the man’s wheezing laugher and feel at home.

_ “Sleep well.” _

Something in him recoiled at the memory of Dream’s soft words hitting the cold skin of his neck as he sat shivering in the warmth of the man’s coat. He caught his own reflection in a mirror that lay off to the side, and tore it away at the sight of the blush painting his cheekbones.

He’d wanted to run away as fast as he could. Away from the burning feeling in his chest, away from the cold of the night and the tentative air that wrapped around something that used to be so familiar.

He remembered the breath of cold air that had hit him once Dream had gone, the way he realized how easy it would have been to lean back into him. Because for all that Dream was dangerous and on the other side of a war, he had protected George. He’d let him go, he’d led him back to safety through woods that George would have gotten lost in.

In the same way that Clay had always looked out for George, Dream was looking out for George, too. As much as he wanted to fear the man, as much as he knew for a fact that he was a threat, he couldn’t help but trust him.

He scoffed at himself shakily, tightening the grip around his legs as the world before him grew blurry again, and he couldn’t help the feeling of shame that washed over him as he felt cold tears fall onto his cheeks.

He was looking for something - someone - he’d lost so desperately that anything Dream was willing to give him, anything that reminded him of Clay, was enough. The man’s voice that was so foreign yet so familiar was muffled under a mask, and it was enough. Enough to make him weep over a scrap of paper, enough to make him shake once the other left, enough to make him cower under the man’s coat.

But why does he let it be enough, George thought as he felt anger bubbling up in his chest, venom infusing his tears. Why did he let Dream affect him like this, when he barely gave anything back? Even if he was similar to Clay, one of the things George had loved most about his best friend was his compassion, the way his face would morph in seconds and express everything he was feeling so freely. The smile that had been crudely painted onto the man’s mask felt like a punch to the gut every time he saw it, a barrier that stopped George from seeing who he was, who he had become.

George had gone into the forest. He’d met up with Dream in the hope that he’d find Clay, he’d risked his life, and for what? For Dream to explain nothing, for Dream to laugh at his jokes as though he hadn’t left him, as though they were still Clay and George?

He felt his nails digging into his palms as he tried to contain the anger rushing through him. This is what it had felt like to burn Clay’s letters, he realized. All those years ago, trapped in his village, down at the bonfire. Thinking that this was what would finally stop him from missing Clay like he did, white hot rage burning through his hands, making Clay’s elaborate words rain into the fire.

Something had stopped him back then. Something had saved Clay’s last letter, whether it be sentiment for their friendship, love or sheer desperation to hang onto something he’d already lost, he’d hung onto Clay, just in the same way he hung onto every one of Dream’s actions today.

George knew that he had changed, that he wasn’t the same boy who would sit on his porch every morning waiting for a letter, waiting for his person. He knew war had made him into a different person, that he had grown to learn so many things on his own and stopped relying on Clay or Sapnap or anyone else to guide him, but deep down, he was still the same as he’d ever been, running after Clay, waiting, scared to speak up.

And God, he was so sick of it all. He was sick of tiptoeing around Dream, sick of letting Dream drape his coat over George’s shoulders, sick of wanting his warm breath on his shoulder, sick of Clay’s laughter coming from behind Dream’s motionless smile.

And maybe he should’ve let the letter burn a long time ago. Because hadn’t Dream done the same thing to them?

He’d stopped writing to him, just like that, one letter was all it took for Dream to burn down the bridge that had connected them for the majority of their lives. 

The younger had grasped their memories and he’d painted all of them over with loneliness and fear. Fear that Clay had forgotten him, that he didn’t mean anything to him, fear that something had happened to him. Dream stood where Clay was supposed to be, and he was familiar, but it wasn’t enough.

He remembered running through the woods hand in hand, Clay reading to him by candlelight, Clay singing to him down by the river, Clay’s crooked teeth that had fallen out and grown in straighter but still not quite right, his green eyes that shone like emeralds in the sunlight and turned a dark seaweed green at night.

Maybe it had been a long time coming, too. Clay had left him, after all. Maybe he should’ve known that this would happen the day he’d cried in Clay’s arms as he bid him goodbye, maybe that had been the day when he should’ve let go.

He shifted to his feet, feeling himself stagger slightly as he made his way over the papers strewn across the floor to the entrance of his tent, wiping the tears slipping from his eyes away with harsh movements.

He’d lost his best friend. Clay had torn down everything that once connected them, so why should he care at all?

His footsteps were harsh in the quiet night, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The wind beat around his ears and he tugged Dream’s coat closer to himself.

He was so tired of overthinking, of running after Clay, Dream, whoever his best friend had become; tired of being afraid to breathe a word near someone he used to love, he _still_ loved.

He’d find Clay, and he’d tell him everything. How hurt he was, how it confused him, the way he didn’t know if his best friend was still somewhere behind that mask Dream wore, somewhere behind the cold and icy person he’d built himself up to be. How it broke him to know that he was right here, that he’d finally,  _ finally  _ found him again and Clay didn’t seem to care, not like he used to.

He could see the trees tower over him, covering the stars as he rushed towards the forest, feet drumming onto the soft dirt in dull thuds. What did it matter what they used to be, when all it did was hurt? If Dream ran from him, he’d have his answer, and he’d be rid of the pain and the waiting and the searching. And if he decided to talk to George, they could rebuild what they once had. But he couldn’t take wondering, couldn’t stand not knowing, and he was ready to let it burn.

\---

His fingers traced over charred edges of paper he’d found nestled between leaves on the forest floor, worn and pale. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to it; the letter in his hands looked so faded and dead, but all the more loved because of it, and he couldn’t help but hold it with care.

He felt the rough paper scrape his fingertips lightly as he turned it over in the light of early dawn that shone through the treetops, sighing to himself.

_ If they think that you mean something to me. _

He had really messed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was on the short side, but it's in preparation for the next chapter ;))) just u wait it's gonna be VERY juicy hehe

**Author's Note:**

> if y'all wanna read more stories from this universe, we upload oneshots in The Moral Law series !
> 
> we're on twitter as @acumirklis_ and @BitterCr0wn !! we make memes about our own story because our hubris is immense, come see if you want
> 
> (this story used to be a technoblade reader insert smut btw lmao, how the turntables)


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